


For Those About to Rock

by thewriterinallofus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Fred Lives, Fremione - Freeform, Humor, Kissing, Muggle Technology, Post-Deathly Hallows AU, Rock and Roll, Slow Dancing, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterinallofus/pseuds/thewriterinallofus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred Weasley had almost given up on telling Hermione Granger he fancied her, until he finds the Muggle-born rocking out in his mother's kitchen, which gives him a brilliant idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back in Black

**Author's Note:**

> So, this crazy little story evolved when I learned that James Phelps (otherwise known as Fred Weasley) has an affinity for some of my favorite rock bands (Bon Jovi, Eagles, Queen, Guns 'N' Roses, Coldplay, AC/DC, Metallica, the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, etc.) Since Hermione is a Muggle-born witch, I somehow imagined her introducing Fred to Muggle rock and roll, and this story was born.
> 
> Each chapter title will be lyrics to/the title of the chapter's song, so you can Google it for a listen, if you think it'll help set the mood. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my silly little plot.

Arthur Weasley was well known for his love of the Muggle world. Luckily for him, his youngest son, Ronald, had befriended Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of her Age, both of whom had spent the first eleven years of their lives being raised by Muggles. Even better, both Harry and Hermione had become as constant a part of his life as his brood of redheaded children.

Fred Weasley was one of the aforementioned redheaded children, but he hadn’t just inherited his father’s ginger locks; he, too, was intrigued by all things Muggle-made, and did not hesitate to include Miss Hermione Granger in his list of “Brilliant Things of Muggle Origins.” In fact, she had topped his list ever since she’d saved him from certain death during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Fred first met Hermione when she was just eleven years old. He’d soon find that her know-it-all personality did tend to rub the wrong way, but that never could overshadow the fact that she was far more brilliant and dedicated that any eleven year old he’d ever met, and had more bravery in her little finger than all of Gryffindor house combined. He grew to appreciate and respect that about the young Muggle-born.

As Hermione’s friendship with Ron and Harry grew, so did her friendship with Fred. He chalked up his fondness of her to a filial affection until she’d descended the stairs at the Yule Ball.

Nearly every jaw in the Great Hall had dropped; in four years, it had somehow escaped everyone’s attention that Hermione was, in a word, stunning.

Where others were focused on her managed hair and altered incisors, or the glittering dress she’d donned, Fred was focused on the smile dominating her face. It was as though the incomparable personality Fred had taken a liking to was concentrated in that smile. He’d felt a twinge in the pit of his stomach that he’d never, in a million years, believed he’d feel because of Hermione Granger. She was everything he was not, and more importantly, she was Ron’s girl; Fred was pretty sure that even disciplined Professor McGonagall had wagered a Galleon or two over when the two would finally announce that they were officially “together.” Even after his brother had proved himself a moron with the emotional depth of a teaspoon, Fred was not certain that Ron would let him get away with dating Hermione with all his important bits intact.

Fred had not expected to survive the Battle of Hogwarts, and by all accounts, he should not have. He still couldn’t quite figure out how he’d survived; he’d seen, with his own eyes, Hermione make the mad dash towards him. He knew, for a fact, that she would not reach him in time to push him out of the way of the falling debris, but somehow none of the rubble even came close to striking either of them. By the time her body collided with his, they were well out of harm’s way.

That didn’t stop her from pushing him against a wall and snogging the wits out of him.

After the battle, she didn’t mention it, so neither did Fred; he tried to write it off as a “heat of the moment, thank Merlin we’re alive” sort of thing. Why should she like him? He’d never given her any reason to believe that he was interested in her that way. Perhaps that could’ve been a viable option if they’d had a period of separation, but when Hermione revealed that she’d made it so her parents didn’t remember they had a daughter, and thus, that she had no home to which she could return at the moment, Molly Weasley had insisted that she call the Burrow home. Since the battle, there hadn’t been a day in which Fred and Hermione were apart, and the more time he spent with her, the more he fell in love with her. 

* * *

 

Hermione raked a hand through her bushy mane, finding herself frustrated. She’d read the same line thirty times at least, and each time, she found her thoughts drifting to a certain redhead whose she’d shoved out of the way of falling rubble.

A voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Ginny reminded her that she’d done some more shoving. _Shoving him against that wall. Shoving your lips against his. Shoving your tongue…_

Hermione swatted the air, as if she could shoo the pesky thoughts away like a fly.

“It didn’t mean anything,” she muttered aloud to no one in particular, even though she knew this was a bold-faced lie.

Yes, Fred was definitely the crueler and more childish of the twins; he spared no expense when it came to punishing the guilty, and she was ninety-nine percent certain that testing out their merchandise on first years had been his idea, but he had always been the most forgiving and showed infinite compassion to the innocent. Hermione herself had been the recipient of such kindnesses. Despite his tomfoolery, she knew he was a brilliant wizard, and she found herself pleased that he’d used his talent to bring laughter to all who sought it, especially in such dark times.

She supposed her feelings began in her second year, when he was a hairsbreadth away from beating the life out of Draco Malfoy for calling her a “filthy, little Mudblood.” She was genuinely touched that someone she barely knew would go to bat for her in a heartbeat. As she grew older, she ignored the butterflies he set off in her stomach, telling herself that it was nothing more than gratitude toward a friend; she managed to keep up this carefully crafted pretense, the blush on her cheeks when he showed her a special attention the only thing belying how she felt.

When faced with the very real possibility of losing Fred, that façade crumbled like the wall that had nearly killed him. She knew she’d rather die than face a world without Fred Weasley in it, and so she threw herself in harm’s way. She was surprised to find that they’d both escaped certain death, and before she knew what she was doing, she had him pinned against a wall, kissing him with everything she had.

She hadn’t had the courage to speak to him about it, let alone confess her feelings, and Fred had made no efforts on his part, so the issue fell to an impasse. She could hardly force him to return her affections.

Sighing, she admitted defeat, closing the book. She wished she had someone to whom she could talk about this.

It sounded silly; at any given time, she was sharing the Burrow with six other people at least, two of who were the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio. Surely there was someone she could talk to about her feelings.

Ron was out of the question for obvious reasons. Harry would listen to her, but he’d be useless in ways of advice. Besides, he’d invariably let it slip to Ginny, who would tease Hermione incessantly.

Talking to George would be suicide. He’d tell Fred without hesitation, and Hermione wasn’t sure she was ready to go off the grid again.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could probably give her sound advice, and she knew they viewed her as a daughter, but she didn’t think that Fred would appreciate her going to his parents for advice on wooing him. 

It was moments like this where she really missed her own parents. No matter what was troubling her, they were always willing to listen, even if they hadn’t the faintest idea what she was on about. What was worse was that this was one time that they may actually be able to offer some sound advice.

Merlin, she missed them.

It wouldn’t do to dwell on the past. Instead, Hermione took a deep breath for composure.

Perhaps she’d feel better after a cuppa. As she made her way into the kitchen, she noticed the Muggle radio sitting on the counter and smiled; Mr. Weasley must’ve brought it home, though whether it was for his own purposes, or to comfort Harry and Hermione was anyone’s guess. Incongruously, Hermione was partial to rock and roll. It was an outlandishly broad spectrum of music, with artists from all over the world.

Hermione was fairly certain she was alone in the house. She mentally reviewed everyone’s whereabouts. Mr. Weasley had left for work long before Hermione had even woken up. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were shopping in Diagon Alley. Ron and Harry were just outside practicing Quidditch, but Hermione was sure that they wouldn’t mind. As for Fred and George…well, the two were a package deal, and since Hermione had seen neither heads nor tails of them, she was left to assume that they were working at their joke shop.

No one was around for her to disturb, so she turned the radio on and began to search for a classic rock station. When she heard a familiar guitar riff, she stopped her searching. Cranking the volume, she began to prepare her tea, bopping in time to the music.

The heavy bass covered the sound of someone walking down the creaky stairs. 

* * *

 

Fred had slept fitfully, his subconscious still plagued by memories of the battle. As a result, George had insisted that he could manage the shop on his own, and that Fred should take the day off to rest and recharge.

He’d been lounging about in his room scribbling down ideas for new products, when he’d felt a thumping rock the house.

Fred drew his wand, his guard still up from the horrid nightmares he’d suffered the night prior, and went to investigate.

As he neared the ground floor, the thumping turned out to be the bass line of a song he didn’t recognize. Perhaps it was a Muggle song? He knew Harry was outside; he’d just flown by Fred’s window. That meant it could only be…

His suspicions were confirmed when he rounded the corner into the kitchen, but it didn’t stop his jaw from dropping at the oblivious girl with free-flowing hair currently dancing around his mother’s table. Her body’s usual rigid set was gone; instead, her form rolled with the emotion of the heavy chords.

“Merlin’s pants! Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?”

The witch in question shrieked, before diving to turn off the radio. Son of a banshee! It would be Fred to find her like this. “Fred…What…Why are you here?”

He raised a brow at her. “Um, I live here. What’s your excuse?”

She pursed her lips. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Why aren’t you at the shop with your brother?” Suddenly concern flooded her voice. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Bile rose in the back of Fred’s throat. George was the only one who he’d told about the night terrors. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” George was going to get a very stern talking to regarding things whispered in confidence.

She stepped forward to lay a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to worry. George didn’t tell me.”

Fred was surprised. Hermione had answered almost as though she could read his mind. “Then how did you…”

“The war keeps me up, too.” She bit her lip, trying to keep tears from falling. “I can hear you crying at night, sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

She answered him honestly. “If you had wanted me to know, you would’ve told me, but you didn’t.” She paused, and then met his eyes. “Though, if you do ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Fred knew she meant what she said. “Thank you for that, Hermione. The same goes for you.”

“Thank you.”

The both looked away, an awkward silence falling over the room. When Hermione realized that the teakettle was cheerfully whistling away, she stepped away from the redhead, and prepared her cup of tea.

“So,” Fred started lamely, hoping to diffuse the tension. “What was with the mini-concert?”

Hermione was glad that her back was turned and he couldn’t see the blush spread over her face. “I thought I was alone. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. I just couldn’t identify the thumping from upstairs.”

She turned, hiding her grin in her teacup. “Sorry about that.”

He waved her apology away. “Don’t worry about it. Didn’t peg you for a rock girl, though. What’s up with that?”

Hermione blushed redder than the hair of the boy in front of her. “Rock and roll never fails to make me happy. That, and it’s got a brilliant history. I’ve got a book upstairs, if you’re interested.” Mentally, she slapped herself. Fred was just being friendly. He didn’t really have a vested interest in the Muggle music. She was just being Hermione “Know-It-All” Granger again.

So caught up was she in her own thoughts, that she almost missed his reply.

“I’d like that.”

Her eyes widened. “You…you would?”

His smile nearly melted her on the spot. “Yes.”


	2. She's Got a Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred had always been proud of his reputation as a chief prankster, but will this stigma come back to bite him when his twin and younger sister find out what he's planning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School's been kind of crazy, so I haven't and a chance to post (or write, for that matter). Anyway, I promise the real story will start in the next chapter, which I hope to have up in the near future. This is an expository chapter: necessary, but boring nonetheless.  
> Thank you to all who have left kudos on this work! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my silly plot.

“My father gave me this book for my birthday. I loved it, but I suppose reading about music is rather a bit silly if you’ve never heard any of it.” Hermione’s voice was muffled slightly, as she was digging through her trunk.

She finally emerged, her arms laden with several items, and made her way over to Fred. “So I picked out a few of my favorite albums for you as well. I think you’ll like them. You can listen to them with the CD player your father bought you for Christmas last year.”

Fred grinned at her. “Thanks, Hermione. This means a lot to me.”

She blushed. “Oh, it’s no trouble. Let me know if you have any questions.”

He nodded, already flipping through the first pages of the book. “I will. Thanks, love.” 

* * *

 

Safely back in the confines of the room he shared with George, Fred let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Hermione “The Brightest Witch of Her Age” Granger had trusted him, Fred “One of the Biggest Pranksters Hogwarts Has Ever Seen Since the Marauders” Weasley, with a book her father had given her, and some of her favorite albums.

“It probably means nothing,” he murmured aloud. “She loans people books all the time.”

In Fred’s head, a voice that sounded oddly like George began questioning him. _She loans people books from her private collection all the time? Freddie, come on now._

The redhead sighed. “She’s just doing me a favor. She doesn’t fancy me.”

_But you fancy the pants off her, and you know it. Why else would you voluntarily accept a book from Miss Prefect?_

“You’re wrong.”

Fred was merely interested in learning about Muggle music. That was why he had taken Hermione up on her offer to loan him the book. It had nothing to do with the fact that the book would provide excellent insight on yet another interesting facet of Hermione Granger.

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

All his efforts to remain objective went out the window when something fell out from between the pages and fluttered to the floor.

* * *

Hermione hoped that Fred liked the book. She truly wasn’t expecting him to take her up on her offer, nor was she expecting him to bound off to his room, already reading the first pages voraciously as he went.

She flopped down on the bed, clapping her hands to her still burning cheeks. Accepting a book and a few CDs from her didn’t mean that Fred had any feelings for her; likely, he was taking advantage of her Muggle upbringing to satiate his own curiosity.

She was still lost in thought, when a knock came at the door.

“Ginny, you don’t need to knock on your own door,” she called.

The door opened a crack. “Not Ginny.”

Hermione’s spine stiffened. “Oh, Fred. Hello.” She looked at her watch. It’d only been fifteen minutes. “Did you finish the book already?”

Fred scratched his neck. “No. Not yet. There was just something I wanted to ask you.”

Hermione couldn’t help it; she was always eager to share information with any party, willing or otherwise. “Of course. What about?”

He hesitated slightly. “I don’t want to pry, um, but this fell out of the book.” He held out the object, which turned out to be a Muggle photograph of a couple laughing. “Is this your parents?”

Hermione slowly stood, reaching for what he proffered. Her voice faltered a bit as she answered, “Yes.” She traced her fingers over their still forms. “This was the day my mum found out she was having me.” She paused, blinking back tears. “We were all so happy together.”

“And are you happy now?”

She smiled bitterly. “Does it matter? They’re safe and happy. My happiness isn’t important.”

Fred’s chest tightened. “Hermione.” She averted her eyes, trying to hide the quickly forming tears from him. “Hermione, look at me.” Fred stepped toward her, grasping her shoulder in one hand, and tipping her chin with the other. “Your happiness matters to me.”

That did it. The tears Hermione had been holding back spilled over with a loud sob. Immediately, Fred gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest, his eyes becoming wet as well. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Hermione Granger. The entirety of the Wizarding World, Fred included, owed much of its recent happiness to her.

Hermione, for her part, was battling conflicting emotions. True, her heart was heavy at the thought of her parents, who, by her own hand, had no recollection of their brilliant daughter, but she could not ignore the strange exhilaration she felt with Fred’s arms holding her tight to his chest.

“What’s all this then?”

Fred and Hermione jumped away from each other, startled by Ginny’s sudden entrance.

“Just a hug between friends,” Fred replied quickly, making his way to the door. “Thanks again for the book, ‘Mione.”  

Hermione felt her heart sink. Friends. As if they would ever be anything beyond that. “Of course, Fred.”

Ginny’s eyes followed after her brother curiously. “Care to share?”

Hermione swallowed thickly, hoping to hide her tears. “I loaned him a book on Muggle music. It was just a hug between friends. You know, as a thank you.”

The younger girl’s brow went up. _Her_ brother? Borrowing a book? “Hermione, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Of course. You’re my best friend.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

The brunette averted her eyes; she’d never been a great liar. “No. I’d tell you if there were.”

“Hermione…”

She forced a yawn. “Gin, I hate to kick you out of your own room, but I’m really wore out, and could use a nap. Would you mind too terribly?”

Ginny nodded, not believing a word coming out of Hermione’s mouth. “Right. Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Hermione’s tears began anew. 

* * *

 

Ginny’s heart broke; Hermione was not nearly as good at hiding her sobs as she thought.

Her fists clenched at the thought that Fred might have something to do with those tears.

“Is ‘Mione alright?”

The youngest Weasley looked up to see George at the top of the stairs. “I don’t think so. In any case, your timing is impeccable. I think we need to have a talk with Freddie.”

* * *

 Unknowingly, Fred was mimicking Hermione’s earlier actions. He’d read the same passage several times in a row, but the lyrics of the soft rock song playing through his headphones was distracting him. They kept reminding him of the Muggle-born witch currently in his sister’s room.

He threw an arm over his eyes. “These Muggle songwriters seem to have no problem telling their ladyloves how they feel.”

The gasp that issued from Fred’s lips served to mark the birth of the most brilliant idea he’d ever concocted.

It also served to block out the sound of two persons entering the room.

* * *

 Ginny wrenched the headphones from her older brother’s head, much to his fright and chagrin. “Merlin’s beard, Gin! You nearly gave me a heart attack! Are you trying to off me?”

Her eyes were like fire. “I might be.”

Fred swallowed and put his hands up defensively. “I promise, Ginny. I haven’t done any pranking at all today. Anyway, I’m glad you’re all here. I’ve just had the most marvelous idea, and I need your help.”

She rolled her eyes. “We’re not interested…”

“I’m going to tell Hermione that I’m in love with her.”

“WHAT?” 

* * *

 

Fred covered his ears at the collective shout.

“I’m going to tell Hermione that I’m in love with her,” he repeated, though now his voice formed a question.

George had to physically restrain Ginny. “Frederick Gideon Weasley, you have done some moronic things in the past, but this…this is downright cruel.”

Fred was befuddled. “I’m not really sure I follow. How would telling her that I love her be cruel?”

At this, George let go of his sister’s arms, and her hand connected to Fred’s face with a resounding smack.

“Ow! What the bloody hell was that for?”

George’s jaw stiffened. “Freddie, this crosses a line, even for you.”

“Yeah! You don’t joke about something like that. Especially not with Hermione,” Ginny growled.

A pained, betrayed expression crossed Fred’s features. “I’m not joking. Please, hear me out.”

Ginny lunged forward, sick of her older brother’s charade, only to be held back by George. “You’re protecting him,” she exclaimed incredulously. “You don’t actually believe his cockamamie tale, do you?”

He sighed. “I don’t know, yet, Ginny. What I do know is that we aren’t going to get any answers by beating him senseless.”

“Then what do you propose we do?”

“Well, I think we should let him explain himself. Then, if we decide he’s full of it, and only then, we will beat the tar out of him.”

Two sets of expectant eyes turned to bore into Fred, who shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t really know where to start.”

“How about starting with you loving Hermione,” Ginny prompted.

George nodded in agreement. “Yeah. I know you’ve not told me about all the birds you’ve fancied, but Granger? Surely something like that would warrant a mention.”

“Hermione isn’t just another bird I fancy,” Fred spat.

This response drew awestruck expressions from the redhead’s siblings. They were used to a playful glint in Fred’s eyes, but in its place was something with which they were familiar, just not in their brother’s eyes. The gaze reminded them of Bill’s at the moment Fleur walked down the aisle. That minute change alone was enough to convince George and Ginny that Fred was telling the truth.

Ginny lunged forward again, but this time to wrap her arms excitedly around Fred’s neck. She arranged herself on his lap, something she hadn’t done since she was very small. “Tell me everything.”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought you didn’t believe me.”

George smiled knowingly and Ginny giggled merrily. Clapping a hand on his twin’s shoulder he murmured, “Fleur is lucky if Bill looks at her with half that amount of adoration.”

Fred’s cheeks flamed as he smiled bashfully.

Ginny pushed his shoulder impatiently. “Come on, Freddie! Tell us! Start from the beginning!”

He ruffled her long hair affectionately. “Well, I always knew I cared for her. I just assumed it was in a sister sort of way. Then she walked down those stairs at the Yule Ball. Her wonderfully beautiful personality shone in her eyes that night. That’s when I knew I was attracted to her, but…”

“But,” Ginny urged, now entranced by the story.

“But she was Ron’s girl,” George supplied.

Fred nodded sorrowfully. “That’s one part of it.”

“And the other part?”

“I’m a prankster. She’s a bookworm. It’d never work out between us.”

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know about that. Seemed to work out fine for Harry’s mum and dad.”

Fred smirked. “Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, Gin.”

George’s brow furrowed. “You make it sound like you’d already given up on her. What changed your mind?”

His twin’s cheeks turned beet red. “Well, um, you…you remember how she saved me during the Battle?”

“Of course.”

Fred laughed timidly. “Well, there’s something I may not have mentioned.” He gulped audibly. “She, um…well…she…” He gritted his teeth; best get this over with quickly. “She shoved me against a wall and snogged me.”

Ginny squealed. “No!”

He nodded weakly. “Yeah.”

George dropped his face into his palm. “And you didn’t take the opportunity to tell her how you feel?”

Fred dragged his hand through his red locks. “I assumed she did it in the heat of the moment, you know? Why should Hermione like me? She never said anything about it to me, so I never mentioned anything to her.”

“What changed?”

He smirked at the memory of Hermione dancing madly in the kitchen. “Well, a series of events led me to the knowledge that ‘Mione’s fond of Muggle rock, and so she loaned me a book on the subject. I found a picture of her parents that she’d tucked into the pages, and she started crying, which lead to the scene that you walked in on, Ginny.”

She nodded in understanding. “So how does all of this factor into your grand plan to confess your undying love?”

Fred rolled his eyes, a smirk plastered to his face. “Well, I was thinking about how happy Hermione looked while listening to Muggle rock, and I’d do anything to make her smile again.”

“Sap,” George muttered through a cough.

“Shut up, Forge. Anyway, I was listening to some of the albums, and I noticed that a lot of the songs are about love. So I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. I’ll sing some of the tunes about love to her. Eventually, she’s bound to ask me what’s up, and that’s when I’ll tell her.”

“That’s when you’ll tell who what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a sort of boring chapter, but I hope you still found it enjoyable, and stick around to see where I take the story. Feel free to leave a comment or a kudos behind. Again, thank you to all who have already left kudos on this work!  
> You can find me on Tumblr at: thewriterinallofus.tumblr.com


	3. I Bless the Rains Down in Africa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of George and Ginny, Fred has concocted a brilliant plan to woo Hermione, but will everything turn out as expected?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five finals, two bouts of flu, and one dislocated thumb later, I finally have a new chapter up! Thank heaven! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! We see a few more detailed glimpses into Fred's plan, and some real fluff occurs. Thanks to all who have commented, left kudos, or bookmarked this fic! You are the ones who keep me writing! <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my silly little plot.

The three co-conspirators jumped, not expecting to see the two-thirds of the Golden Trio about whom they hadn’t been plotting. Ron and Harry were soaked, due to the thunderstorm that had started whilst they were still outside practicing Quidditch. 

Fred stammered soundlessly, unsure of how to cover his tracks.

Ginny jumped to her feet and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “George is pregnant. Fred’s the father.”

Ron gagged. “Dobby’s sock! Harry, you should never have introduced her to that…that amine crap.”

“Anime,” Harry enunciated. “And it’s not my fault that the one show has a set of redheaded twins seemingly based off your brothers.”

“Whatever. Still think it’s bloody disgusting, and I’d rather not think about my brothers like that.” Ron shuddered. “Think I’ll go throw up now.” He stalked toward the bathroom dramatically.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, on that…disturbing note, I think I’ll go shower, provided Ron hasn’t coated the walls in a Technicolor yawn.”

As soon as Harry and Ron were out of earshot, Fred squeezed Ginny’s hand gratefully.

She leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You’re welcome, Freddie.”

George sat down next to his brother, wrapping an arm around Fred’s shoulders. “Now, what can we do to help you win the heart of your ladylove?”

Fred grinned impishly. “Well, first, we’re going to have to run a few errands.”

* * *

 “Kids! Dinner,” Molly called. “Come and get it while it’s still warm!”

A clamoring of voices excited to tuck into the meal followed.

Hermione knew that Mrs. Weasley, and in extension, the entire Weasley clan, included both herself and Harry under the title of family, but it wasn’t helping her to swing out of her moroseness. It hurt Hermione to know that she may not ever see her own parents again, nor would the object of her affections ever see her as more than a sister.

What hurt even worse was the fact that the only person she had to blame was herself.

Hermione sighed heavily, as she turned away from the window. She’d been glaring spitefully at the rain outside; she was not the star of some cheesy Muggle romantic comedy. The weather didn’t need to match her current emotions. It was only adding insult to injury.

Hoisting herself up, Hermione lethargically made her way to the Weasley kitchen, having no particular inclination to look anyone in the eye.

Those who knew the Burrow well took caution to watch their step as they descended the stairs. They were notoriously uneven and rickety, and one minor faux pas could turn disastrous.

Hermione was so distracted by her melancholy thoughts that she forgot to watch where she walked, and in so doing, missed a step. She would have fallen flat on her back, no doubt leaving several nasty bruises, if not for a pair of strong arms catching her.

She looked up to face her rescuer and groaned internally; of course it would be Fred.

Setting her on her feet again,  he asked, “Are you alright, ‘Mione?”

Blushing, she nodded. “I’m fine.”

Fred raised a brow, noticing her puffy, red eyes. “Are you sure?”

She met his gaze, realizing that he wasn’t asking about her physical well-being. “I’ll get through it.”

He brushed her hair away from her eyes so as to see her face better. Her heart skipped a beat under his scrutiny. “You don’t have to get through it alone, you know. I meant what I said before.”

She mustered a half-smile, taking heart at his words. “I know. Thank you.”

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Come on. We’d best get downstairs before Ron’s eaten all the good stuff.”

She couldn’t help the smirk that ghosted across her lips. 

* * *

 

Fred was beyond pleased to find that there were only two spots open at the table, which forced Hermione to sit right next to him.

Dinner, as usual, was a noisy affair, and Hermione hoped it would divert attention from her dour mood. Unfortunately, Molly Weasley had vision like a hawk, and immediately called the brunette out.

“Hermione, dear, is something the matter? You look as though you’ve been crying.” The matron stood and peered at Hermione’s plate. “You’ve hardly eaten anything.”

The girl in question cursed under her breath. Looking to Mrs. Weasley, she plastered a smile to her face. “No, I’m fine. I just got emotional over a book I was reading, and ate a few too many Chocolate Frogs to soothe me. I suppose I spoiled my appetite.”

Mrs. Weasley sat down, not at all accepting Hermione’s excuse. Her eyes bored into her adoptive daughter’s skull, as if she could pick her brain.

Fred noticed his mother’s wary gaze, and how uncomfortable Hermione seemed. Deliberating for a moment, he decided that it was time to execute stage one of his plan, and he obnoxiously cleared his throat. This garnered the attention of his mother, as well as his twin and younger sister.

Fred winked at them.

Ginny and George grinned. Stage One was a go.

“I swear to Circe, if you two are planning another prank…”

Fred gasped, feigning insult. “Mother! I’m hurt.”

Molly narrowed her eyes. “Then what, pray tell, were you trying to communicate by that ruckus?”

Fred turned up his nose. “I was going to share a brilliant idea, but now I shan’t.”

His mother sighed at his antics. She’d put up with them for more than two decades, and wasn’t sure how much more she could stand. “Out with it.”

He crossed his arms and pouted. “No.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Ugh, you are such a child, Fred. I’ll tell her.”

Molly suspiciously turned her eyes to her youngest child; she was surprised that Ginny would be in on any plans of the twins.

“Your anniversary is coming up this week. I thought, in light of how horrible the past year has been, that it might be nice for you and dad to get away for a while. No worries. It would just be pure relaxation. I told Fred and George my idea, and they offered to fund it.”

“My twins? Ginevra, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

George spoke up. “Look, Mum, we know we’re the black sheep of the family. We never lived up to your expectations. We know we’ve rarely taken anything seriously, but the War changed us. We realize how lucky we are to have you and Dad, and we just wanted to do something nice for you.”

Molly heart swelled in pride. No matter how many grey hairs her boys had given her, she could never deny how proud she was of them.

Fred and George each received a kiss on the head from their mother. “I’m sorry I doubted you, dears. That’s a very sweet thing to do. Unfortunately, you haven’t left us nearly enough time to make the necessary arrangements.”

Ginny grinned cheekily. “We’ve already taken care of that. I sent an owl to Kingsley Shacklebolt earlier in the week to ask if he’d give dad the vacation days.” She pointed towards the twins. “Fred went to Gringott’s to get the money, and George booked your hotel reservations and itinerary for a safari in Kenya.”

Arthur Weasley looked at his youngest child for an explanation. “My sixteen year old daughter and twenty year old twins convinced the Minister for Magic to let me go on vacation?”

Ginny beamed proudly. “Shacklebolt’s fond of you, Dad.”

Fred grinned impishly. “It also didn’t hurt that Gin sent him some of her famous gingersnaps, and Georgie and I sent him a replica of the Professor Pink Toad that rides around the shop.”

At this the whole table burst into deafening laughter, though the only laugh Fred heard was that of the brilliant witch beside him.

“So,” Molly asked gleefully. “When do your father and I leave?”

“Tomorrow,” the triad of tricksters replied.

Molly Weasley sailed up the stairs, wailing that she hadn’t enough time to pack. 

* * *

 

Long after everyone was asleep, Ginny cast a silencing spell on her footsteps, and crept over to Fred and George’s room, toting a rather large bag with her.

The twins were lying side by side on George’s bed, whispering quietly between themselves. Ginny threw herself across the bed at their feet, dropping the bag at the foot of the bed.

“They bought it,” she whispered in wonder, after throwing up a silencing spell around the room.

Fred nodded, his amazement as great as hers. “I know. The worst performance of our entire career and they never doubted it for a second.”

George rolled his eyes. “They totally doubted it, but what do you mean ‘worst performance?’ We weren’t even lying this time.”

It was true; the three of them had actually been tossing the idea of sending their parents on a trip for a while now. Fred’s plan to woo Hermione had merely served at the catalyst to jumpstart it.

“You know, you never explained why mum and dad needed to be out of the picture,” Ginny observed.

Fred sighed. He loved his parents dearly, but they would unequivocally throw a wrench into his plans. “Look, the plan revolves around Muggle music, which would no doubt draw Dad like bees to honey. I’d rather not confess how I feel about ‘Mione with my father in the room. Mum is desperate for Georgie and I to settle down, and even more so for Hermione to be a full fledged Weasley. If she even caught a whiff of what we were up to, you know she’d go into matchmaker mode full force; I don’t want Mum stealing my thunder.”

George raised an eyebrow at his brother. “Aren’t you worried that Ron and Harry will catch on eventually?”

Ginny snorted. “George, are you serious? The series of events that could’ve been avoided if Ron and Harry were a just hair more observant could fill seven books, at least.”

The twins chuckled at their sister’s sarcasm.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I had Harry side-along apparate me over to Muggle London. Told him Mum was still too nervous after the War to go there, and that I still needed some things.” She smirked. “He suspected nothing, and I managed to pick up some things I thought might aid us in our endeavor.”

Fred and George sat up, understandably intrigued. They rushed over to the bag to inspect its contents.

Fred’s eyes widened at the items Ginny had brought. “What is all this?”

Ginny grinned deviously. “You’re not the only one who’s done a bit of research, Freddie.”

He beamed. “Did I ever tell you that you’re my favorite sister?”

She rolled her eyes, and gently pushed his head to the side. “I’m your only sister, you numpties.”

They sat in silence for a moment; finally, Fred whispered, “T minus two days till Stage Two is a go.” 

* * *

 

“Are you sure you’ll be fine on your own, loves,” Mrs. Weasley asked worriedly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “For the thousandth time, yes mum! We will be fine!”

Molly bundled her only daughter up in her arms. “I’m sorry, dear, but I fret over all of you.”

Hermione had to look away, the embrace between mother and daughter only serving to remind her of what she had lost. This did not go unnoticed by Fred, who surreptitiously slid closer to her. He leaned into her side and squeezed her hand quickly, inconspicuously reminding her that he was there for her. She smiled and pressed his hand in response.

Arthur tapped his foot impatiently. “Come on, Molly!”

“Don’t rush me, Arthur Weasley.” She turned back to the children.

“You’re family, so take care of each other. If anything goes wrong, send us an owl, and we’ll be home in a flash. We love you.”

A chorus of the repeated sentiment arose, and with a pop, the Weasley matriarch and patriarch were gone.

“Anyone up for a game of Quidditch,” Ginny asked.

* * *

 An hour later, four sweaty wizards and one sweaty witch entered the house, and looked around at each other awkwardly.

Harry was the first to break the silence. “So, what do we do now?”

Ron’s stomach growled as if replying to Harry’s question. He blushed, and rubbed his neck. “I could do with a bite to eat.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” Harry exclaimed. “You know I’m pants at cooking. Gin?”

She blushed, and kicked at imaginary dust on the floor. “Sorry, dear, but I’m no better. Mum’s tried to teach me, but I just can’t get the hang of it.”

The three turned to face the twins, who shook their heads dramatically. “Unless you plan on eating candy that turns your hair pink, we’re of no help.”

Ron groaned. “Great. Mum’s been gone less than an hour, and we’re already facing starvation.”

“Supper’s ready.”

Everyone peered into the kitchen to gawk at Hermione. None of them had noticed her go into the kitchen. There was an assortment of tacos on the table.

Harry was the first to speak. “You can cook?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Forget that horrid camping trip already, Potter,” she shot back testily. “I’m the one who kept you fed.”

His cheeks went pink. “Right. Sorry, Hermione.”

Ron’s brow wrinkled. “What do you call these then,” he asked, gesturing to the food Hermione had prepared.

“They’re tacos. They’re an American dish. Muggle,” Hermione informed them conversationally. “I wanted to try something new.”

Fred’s face lit up in delight. “I’ve heard about these! I’ve always wanted to try one.”

Hermione jerked her head toward the table. “Then stop talking, and start eating.”

They nearly bowled her over in an attempt to get to the table. 

* * *

 

That evening was fairly quiet. Ginny, George, Ron, and Harry were in the midst of a rigorous game of Exploding Snap. Hermione was flicking through a Muggle novel, and Fred, despite Hermione’s protests that she could take care of it, was cleaning up the supper dishes.

The brunette nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the sofa dip beside her. Hermione took a cursory glance to identify her companion; upon seeing that it was Fred, she bowed her head farther over the book, in the hopes that her curtain of hair would hide her blazing cheeks.

“Anything good,” Fred asked, trying to be conversational.

She simply nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment.

Fred bit his lip. Was she being intentionally stiff? “Supper was great, by the way. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She returned to her book.

Ah, it was the book distracting her. He reached a hand out toward the tome. “May I?”

Hermione nodded again, marking her place, and relinquishing the book to Fred.

“Less miserables.” He sounded out the title, unsure of the words.

Hermione chuckled. “Les Misérables,” she corrected. “It’s French for ‘the miserable ones.’”

Fred raised a brow. “How…cheerful.”

She snickered again. If only Fred knew.

He saw how aged and worn the pages were, and took great care to handle them delicately, something Hermione appreciated as soon as she noticed.

“Hang on,” he said, after a moment. “Is this all in French?”

Hermione nodded bashfully. “Yes.”

Fred stared at her wide-eyed, as though in a trance.

 _Surely, Rowena Ravenclaw wasn’t nearly as big a bookworm._ Her thoughts had turned as mournful as her book’s title.  

Her musings were interrupted when Fred murmured, “Would you read some of it to me?”

“Pardon?”

Fred’s face tinged with red. “Would you read some of it to me? In French?”

Hermione blinked at him owlishly. “Um, sure.” She took the book from his hands, beginning where she had left off before he’d asked to see it.

Fred was captivated. Godric, he had already fallen so in love with her; how was it possible that she was making him fall all over again with every word?

He couldn’t help it; he needed to be close to her. Without thinking, he looped an arm around her shoulders, his eyes following the foreign words on the page as she read them. Hermione ceased speaking, looking over at the boy now wrapped around her.

Fred’s face turned a brilliant red as he realized why she had stopped. “Is…is this okay,” he whispered. He cursed internally. _Merlin, I’m an idiot!_

Hermione’s cheeks flared. If only he knew how much more than “okay” this was. She nodded shakily, and began again.

As the evening wore on, they became more lost in the words, and more lost in each other. Neither quite noticed Hermione shifting in Fred’s arms, moving to rest her head against his shoulder, nor when Fred slid his hand from her arm to her hip.

They also didn’t notice her best friends staring, one quizzically, the other wrathfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Love it? Hate it? Have questions? Let me know! I appreciate every comment, kudos, or bookmark I get! Thank you again to all those who have already done so.  
> If you want to find me on Tumblr, I'm: thewriterinallofus.tumblr.com


	4. I Got My Mind Set On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As of yet, Fred's plan has been going swimmingly. What will happen when Harry and Ron catch a whiff of what the devilish twin is up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK!  
> Yes, at long last, I've returned. I do apologize for the delay. I planned to have much more time to write, as I am on winter break, but did not anticipate my boss giving me full-time hours for the holidays. Now that I am back on a part-time schedule I hope I'll have more time to write.  
> This chapter, we see a lot of fluff, and a lot of introspection. As the chapter title suggests, our friends have a lot on their minds.  
> Many thanks to all who have left kudos, commented, or bookmarked this fic! You're the ones who keep me going! <3  
> Disclaimer: I own only my plot.

Harry cleared his throat rather loudly, breaking the trance in which Hermione and Fred had been. The two blushed, awkwardly shifting apart.

“Hadn’t we all better get to bed,” Harry snapped, still glaring at Fred.

Ron turned to look at his best friend incredulously. “Harry, what are we? First years? It’s barely ten o’clock.”

Hermione stepped toward him, concern for her friend growing. “Harry, is something the matter?”

“I’m fine,” he grounded out, his teeth gritted.

She laid a hand on his arm. “Harry, we’re here for you, if…”

“I said I’m fine,” he nearly shouted. “Didn’t you hear me the first time?” He slapped her hand away, the force of the blow sending her falling backward. Immediately, he regretted the action, and his voice softened. “Oh Merlin. I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

She didn’t seem to have noticed his hushed apology. Instead, she jumped to her feet, anger glinting in her eyes. “What is the matter with you,” she cried.

“There’s nothing the matter with me,” Harry yelled back, closing in on Hermione, his fists clenched.

In an instant, Fred had placed himself between the two, an arm stretched protectively toward her. “Harry.” His voice was pitched low, a warning. “That’s enough.”

The ginger stood his ground as Harry marched forward, getting in Fred’s face. “Oh, so now you’re a hero, Fred?” He shoved him with all he had. “That’s rich!”

Hermione was incensed. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into Harry, but she knew it was completely unacceptable. She pushed past Fred, her eyes flaming. “You listen to me, Harry Potter. I understand that something has you upset, though about what, I’m at a loss. If you don’t want to share, that’s fine. You’re well within your rights to discern what you do and do not share. However, it doesn’t give you the right to speak to any of your friends that way.” She took a step closer, her voice lowering to a growl. “And nothing will _ever_ give you the right to strike Fred or me.”

Harry winced, realizing she was right, but not feeling any less irritated. “Whatever,” he spat waspishly. “I’m going up to bed.”

Harry stomped toward the stairs. Stopping halfway up, he turned. “I _am_ sorry,” he mumbled before continuing up the stairs.

They all flinched at the slamming of a door.

Finally, the silence was broken by Ginny. “Hermione, Harry is my boyfriend and I love him, but if you want me to bat-bogey hex him, I won’t hesitate.”

Hermione held up a hand to silence her friend. “I appreciate the sentiment, Ginny, I really do, but it won’t do Harry any good if he thinks we’re ganging up on him. He’ll tell us what has him upset in his own time. As for what transpired tonight, that’s between him, myself, and Fred. We’ll sort it out amongst ourselves.” She made a show of looking at the clock. “Harry was right about one thing. You should head to bed.”

George, Ron, and Ginny understood the meaning behind Hermione’s words; she wanted to discuss the night’s events with Fred.

Bidding Fred and Hermione goodnight, the three silently went up the stairs to their respective bedrooms.

Fred turned slowly. “Are you alright, love?” Harry had been known to have quite the temper if aggravated enough, and no doubt he and Hermione had had their fair share of spats over the years, but Fred had never known of a time where the Boy Who Lived had ever raised a hand to the Brightest Witch of her Age.

Hermione snorted. “I’ve had far worse,” she stated curtly, absentmindedly rubbing the arm Harry had swatted.

Fred noticed the action, and grasped her arm, pushing up the sleeve. “Does it hurt? Did he leave a…” His words trailed off, his jaw falling open at the marks marring Hermione’s skin. However, the marks were not fresh, and certainly hadn’t been left by Harry Potter.

Fred’s eyes rose to meet Hermione’s, appalled. “Who did this to you?”

Through gritted teeth, she spat, “Bellatrix made sure that I wouldn’t forget our time together in the manor anytime soon.”

Fred ghosted his fingers over the letters, as though he might erase them. “Hermione, I’m so sorry.”

She gently cupped his cheek, guiding his gaze back to her own. “Don’t be. I’m proud of it. It’s a reminder that I survived. The Mudblood survived when the Pureblood could not.”

Fred couldn’t help but smile. “That’s the most Gryffindor thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”

She ducked her head, smirking. Fred tipped her chin up, his fingers tracing over her jaw. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, they forgot everything except each other.

The clock struck, reminding them of the time. “We should head up to bed,” Hermione breathed.

Fred nodded, an air of disappointment about him. He stretched out a hand. “C’mon. I’ll walk you up.”

Gratefully, Hermione took it, following him up the stairs. 

* * *

 

After an uncomfortably silent trek up the staircase, they reached the door to the room Hermione shared with Ginny.

“Well, um, this is your stop,” Fred mumbled.

“I suppose it is.”

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, before Hermione spoke up. “You know, I’ve never shown that scar to anyone before.” She paused, blushing at Fred’s surprised expression. “I mean Harry, Ron, and Ginny know it’s there, but they’ve never seen it.”

Fred bit his lip, unsure of what to say. Words failing him, he gathered Hermione into his arms.

Hermione willingly stepped into his embrace, securing her arms around his shoulders.

They stayed that way for a time, before Fred pulled away. Both blushed, averting their gaze.

“Goodnight, then, Fred,” Hermione murmured.

In a show of Gryffindor bravado, Fred stooped down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Goodnight, Hermione.” With that, he apparated away to his room.

* * *

 All occupants of the Burrow were finally abed, but they all had too many things on their minds to sleep very well.

* * *

 Ron had entered the room, throwing an annoyed look in Harry’s direction. Where did he get off hitting Hermione and Fred?

He would’ve confronted the so-called Chosen One if not for the fact that Hermione had asked them not to do so. He knew better than to risk ending up on the wrong end of Hermione’s wand.

Diverting his attention, he focused on the note residing on his bedside table. A few weeks after the Battle, Parvati Patil had sent an owl to the Burrow, asking if anyone wanted to meet up for drinks. As it so happened, Ron was the only one free to join her. They’d had a blast together, hitting it off surprisingly well. They continued to meet up, until Ron had finally gotten the nerve to ask the girl out properly.

They’d been on several proper dates since, Ron falling harder and harder for everything about her. Just last week, he and Parvati had had a movie marathon, snuggling close on her sofa.

Speaking of people snuggling close on a sofa, his thoughts turned to his brother and best friend.

He raised the covers, thinking it strange how close Fred and Hermione had been tonight. Had they been friends before? Ron had never really noticed.

Of course, he’d been too busy crushing on Hermione to take notice of much else. In other circumstances, Ron might be angry with his brother; everyone, Ron included, had expected that he and Hermione would end up together. However, nothing had come of his crush on the brilliant witch, and she’d never made any indication that she felt the same way. Despite having Parvati, Ron couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous. Still, there were worse people, he supposed, whom Hermione could date.

Shrugging, he climbed beneath the sheets, and was snoring within minutes, dreams filled with brightly colored saris and the warm laughter of the girl in them. 

* * *

 

Harry Potter was not well known for being the most observant of people, nor would he ever claim to be. Thank Godric that Hermione Granger had been brought into his life. He knew, without a doubt, that he would not have survived his first year at Hogwarts without her clever intelligence, let alone defeat the Dark Lord six years later.

As he owed his life to her, and she was his best friend, he made an effort to be observant in matters pertaining to her. Harry supposed that someone should watch out for her; she spent so much of her time looking after the welfare of her friends and family, there was no possible way that she kept after herself.

Thus, Harry took it upon himself to be Hermione’s protector. He knew that he’d not always been successful in this endeavor, but he tried his best.

It didn’t take a genius to deduce that Hermione suffered from emotional scarring and a battered self-esteem. She’d had several horrid blood slurs directed at her by the tender age of thirteen; by the war’s end, Hermione’s arm had been emblazoned with a reminder of the disgust many harbored for her. Before she’d even known of the Wizarding World, she’d been bullied and ostracized for being different. Then, witches and wizards that should have celebrated her for her talents shunned her for her lineage. The amount of hate from people who wanted her “kind” dead had driven stronger men and women mad. It came as no surprise to anyone that Hermione did not think highly of herself, nor did she see herself as someone worthy of another’s love.

Worse yet, Harry knew that the war these repugnant magical people had started had forced Hermione to voluntarily give up the two people who _did_ love her more than anything, all in order to protect them.

Thus, Harry was not against someone being interested in Hermione. He wasn’t the sort of friend who would chase away anyone who took a liking to her; he’d be thrilled if she found someone to love her. However, he wasn’t so sure that Fred Weasley was that person.

To someone who didn’t know Fred or Hermione, they had made the perfect picture of true love tonight. Hermione seemed to fit perfectly into Fred’s arms, and Fred couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Harry knew better than that. The elder Weasley twin had to be up to something.

Hermione and Fred had always been fond of each other; without really trying, their personalities just clicked. However, something must have happened between the hunt for Horcruxes and the Battle of Hogwarts. Their usually cheerful banter had ceased, and they seemed to avoid each other like the plague.

Now, all of a sudden, Fred was flirting with Hermione? Holding her in his arms? Protecting her? It didn’t make sense. Whatever Fred was doing, he wasn’t doing it because he had feelings about Hermione. He had to be playing at something. Harry’s only guess was that the notorious prankster was just trying to get back into the bookworm’s good graces, and that was just not acceptable. Hadn’t Hermione been through enough?

Harry rolled over in bed, his eyebrows furrowed, reminiscent of the glare he’d directed at Fred earlier this evening.

* * *

 George grinned at the form of his twin, outlined by the moonlight filtering in through the window.

In two decades, this was a side of Fred he’d never seen before. For Salazar’s sake, he’d thrown a wad of paper at Angelina’s head before asking her to the Yule Ball. George wasn’t certain, but that was probably the opposite of romantic. So, either Fred had been reading those crap Muggle magazines of which Ginny had become so fond, or he’d well and truly fallen for Granger; he’d asked permission to put an arm round her shoulder, for Circe’s sake! Fred would be able to charm the pants off of anyone he wanted if he kept behaving that way.

Smirking mischievously, George mused that Fred's charm still needed some work; considering he was in their shared room, he’d obviously not yet managed to charm off Hermione’s pants. Perhaps after tomorrow’s execution of stage two…

“Shut up, George,” Fred muttered from across the room.

He looked up in surprise. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it.”

George snickered. “Hey, I’m allowed a laugh at your expense. You’re the one who involved me in this ridiculous plan.”

Fred was annoyed. “Why did I even tell you? Why did you want to be a part of it if you think it’s so ridiculous?”

“Because I’m your twin, and I love you,” George stated bluntly. He bit his lip. “If I’m being honest, I’m a little hurt that you didn’t tell me before now.”

Fred felt the pain in his twin’s words, and did something he hadn’t done since before their days at Hogwarts. He crossed the floor, climbed under the covers on his brother’s bed, stretched out by George’s side, and looped his arms around his twin. Fred mused to himself that they fit on the bed a bit better when they were smaller.

“I’m sorry, Forge. I didn’t think about that. It’s just…” He wracked his brain for the right words. “We’ve always laughed about everything. You almost died when you lost that ear, and we still made a joke of it. I didn’t want this to become a joke.”

George pursed his lips. “You know better than that, Gred. I might tease you, but I know how much you love her, and how much this means to you.”

Fred shifted nervously. “That’s another thing. I didn’t want you to think that I was replacing you or something. You’ve always been the most important person in my life, and I’d do anything for you.”

“And now?”

Fred turned to face George. “I feel the same about you, of course. It’s just that I feel the same way about Hermione, too. I felt just as safe and at home on the sofa with her as I do working at the shop with you.”

George smiled, returning his brother’s embrace. “If I have to share you with someone, I’m glad it’s Hermione.”

Fred snorted. “Glad to hear it, George.” 

* * *

 

Hermione crept into the room she shared with Ginny, her cheeks still blazing furiously, only to find that Ginny sat up, reading a trashy magazine by the light of her wand. They were common in the Muggle world, and had become more and more popular among witches.

“Oh, hello, Hermione. Did you get everything sorted out with Fred about Harry?”

The bushy-haired girl nodded mutedly. Inwardly, though, Hermione was screaming, “No!”

If anything, their conversation had thoroughly served to confuse her more; they hadn’t even touched the subject of how to approach Harry about the fight.

Just two days ago, Fred had seemingly branded her as “just a friend,” leaving her heartbroken and in tears. Then, tonight, he’d…

Oh, Godric. Her cheeks flushed, and she felt as though she had a hundred Golden Snitches zooming about in her stomach.

Morgana’s skirt, he’d nearly kissed her full on the mouth!

She laid a hand on the place his lips had caressed, smiling like a buffoon at the memory of how happy the action had made her feel.

“Hermione, are you even listening?”

Her head snapped up. Apparently, her friend had been talking to her the entire time. “I’m sorry, Ginny. My thoughts were drifting. What did you say?”

The ginger rolled her eyes, chuckling. She had no doubt that Hermione’s mind was set on Fred. Ginny’s eyes drifted to the bag she’d stuffed into the corner; she was deliriously excited to execute stage two tomorrow. She grinned, imagining telling future nieces and nephews about the crazy plan their father had made to set about wooing their mum.

Answering Hermione’s question, she sang, “Oh, nothing important. Just telling you how delicious dinner was tonight.”

Hermione blushed. “Oh. Thank you.”

Ginny nodded, muttering a Nox charm, turning the room dark. “Well, goodnight, Hermione.”

“Goodnight, Ginny.” Hermione rolled over, trying to rid her thoughts of how safe and loved she’d felt in Fred’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I love kudos, comments, and bookmarks! Your feedback is so important to me! <3 Hope you enjoyed it!


	5. Pour Some Sugar On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stage Two is a go, people! Stage Two is a go!  
> The long-awaited Stage Two of Fred's plan to woo Hermione is finally in action. He's planned it down to the millisecond, ensuring that everything will be perfect, but will the perfection he strives for be as easily attainable as he thinks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible author. I have left you hanging for well over a month. I should be crucified. My only plea is that the semester has started, so I am busy with homework, and I am performing in a play, so I lose writing time to rehearsals.  
> In this chapter, the build-up for Stage Two climaxes! Finally, we get to see Fred serenade his beloved Hermione.  
> Warning: Fred is a sexy dancer, and Ron has the mouth of a sailor, so towards the end, it might get a bit...risqué. Don't worry; nothing is too questionable to up the rating.  
> A million thanks to those who have commented, bookmarked, or left kudos. You are far kinder to me than I deserve.  
> As always, I own only my plot. With that, I hope you enjoy!

Fred splayed his fingers out, enjoying the feel of soft grass beneath his fingers. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the sky so blue before.

Sitting up, he realized that he hadn’t the foggiest notion where he was. He’d never been to this place before in his life.

His thoughts remained there only momentarily, for his attention was caught by a melodious laugh.

Peering in the giggle’s direction, his face split into a smile. He’d recognize that mop of bushy hair anywhere.

No sooner was the thought of embracing her in his mind, than she was already in his arms.

He didn’t tell that he loved her; it seemed he didn’t need to do so. When her eyes met his, they shone with warmth and love, and instinctively, he drew her closer.

Her lips had just grazed his, when a thumping sounded. Just as soon as she had appeared in his arms, she was gone. 

* * *

 

Fred groaned as he rolled over. He’d been having a rather lovely dream, which may or may not have involved a certain bushy-haired witch sleeping a floor below him.

He wistfully thought of Hermione, his hopes for his plan to tell her his feelings high.

His eyes shot open.

Today was the day.

Stage two, and, with any luck, stage three would be carried out today.

Fred dragged his hands through his fiery hair, his emotions in turmoil. He was somewhere between jumping for joy and being sick.

Suddenly, a pillow flew through the air, hitting Fred squarely in the face.

“Answer the bloody door, already,” George groused sleepily.

Fred stumbled out of bed, realizing that the thumping that had rudely interrupted his dreams was someone knocking on the door.

A quick glance at the clock told him that it was too early for any sane person to be awake. Merlin’s beard, the sun wasn’t even shining yet!

Fred opened the door, surprised to find Harry waiting.

His eyes widened as his body became more alert, still on the defensive around the raven-haired boy. “Harry,” he greeted as cordially as he could. “What brings you to my humble threshold at this godforsaken hour?”

The Boy Who Lived hung his head. “I just wanted to apologize. My behavior last night was inexcusable.” He looked up sheepishly. “I wanted to ask for your forgiveness.”

Fred smirked warmly. Leave it to Harry Potter to treat an, albeit unexpected, bout of temper like an Unforgivable Curse.

“Already forgotten, mate.” Harry had been a constant in Fred’s life for nearly a decade, and the redhead had come to see him as a brother; it would take more than a spat to cause a rift between the two.

Harry beamed. “Thank you, Fred.”

The older boy nodded. Seeing the dark circles under the emerald green eyes, Fred laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Look. I can tell you’ve been up all night stewing about this. Why don’t you go back upstairs and get some sleep? I’ll make sure we save some breakfast for you, alright?”

Harry’s smiled widened. “Sure thing. Thanks again.”

Fred shook his head fondly as he watched Harry retreat back up the stairs. When the younger boy had disappeared from view, the redhead let out a yawn, stretching his sleep-stiffened muscles.

Glancing back through the door to his room to the window, he saw the beginnings of a sunrise. Shrugging, he decided that he might as well go downstairs. Unlike George, who would have slept through both Wizarding Wars if they’d let him, Fred couldn’t go back to sleep once he was awake; there was no sense in laying in his bed pointlessly for the next hour.

Pattering down to the kitchen, his ears were met with the sounds of someone singing softly. Peering around the corner, he saw Hermione putting the finishing touches on breakfast, her body swaying in time to the melody she was spinning.

He might have gotten caught up in watching her frame move gracefully if he had not noticed the plates of waffles she’d prepared.

They’d been made according to each of their tastes.

Ron had an affiance for finger foods, so she’d cut up waffles into strips, and provided a dish of maple syrup in which to dunk them.

Harry, who had been denied even the most simple of pleasures in life for the first eleven years of his life, had waffles slathered in butter and absolutely drenched in maple syrup.

Ginny had gone on a healthy eating kick ever since she’d become serious about making a career of Quidditch, and Hermione had made her whole wheat waffles, topped with various diced fresh fruits.

Fred and George were both notorious for having a sweet tooth. George’s was drizzled in chocolate syrup and raspberries. Fred’s was made similarly, though Hermione had used caramel and chocolate chips on his, and topped the whole thing in whipped cream.

Hermione’s was the only stack of waffles that had no toppings whatsoever.

Fred’s heart swelled with adoration. Even in something as simple and everyday as waffles, her love for others shone through. He knew that doing something so attentive wasn’t even something she thought about; it was second nature to her. He knew she was in a place of emotional instability, and she still put everyone else’s needs before her own. Without even a moment to think, Fred had crossed the kitchen and wrapped her up in his arms. “You wonderful, wonderful woman,” he murmured into her hair.

Hermione, though admittedly pleasantly surprised to suddenly find her arms full of Fred Weasley, pulled away. “Good morning to you, too,” she said amiably, smiling bashfully up at him. “What’s all this about?”

Fred’s mouth open and closed ineffectually several times. He was unable to form words, too overwhelmed by the wave of his emotions for the Gryffindor princess.

Her cheeks flushed under the intensity of his gaze. “What,” she asked finally, unsure why he’d be staring so raptly at her. “Is there something on my face?”

Fred, broken out of his lovesick stupor for a moment, smirked. There was a streak of flour across her cheek. “Actually,” he murmured amusedly. He swiped a thumb across her cheekbone, but instead of pulling his hand away, Fred let his hand linger on her face.

“Hermione, I love you.”

* * *

 The pair jumped apart, startled by Ron’s sudden entrance.

Hermione, ignoring the blush that had bloomed across her cheeks, raised a brow. “Did Parvati finally figure out that you’re a daft blighter and dump you? Is that why you’re declaring your love to me, Ronald?”

Ron smirked at his best friend’s cheek. “For your information, Miss Granger, Parvati thinks I’m brilliant. I think she is, too, but her cooking…” He trailed off, merely nodding at the stacks of waffles. “Let’s just say your waffles are an oasis in a sea of burnt naan bread.”

Even Fred, who was irked by his younger brother’s untimely interruption, had to snicker. “That bad, huh?”

At that moment, Ginny entered, trailed by George and a very tired looking Harry. Fred smiled at him sympathetically, realizing that his youngest brother probably inhibited the bespectacled boy from getting any sleep. Surreptitiously, the redhead conjured a cup of strong, steaming coffee, and pushed it into an appreciative Harry’s hands.

Meanwhile, Ginny was answering the question. “You’ve no idea,” she replied before Ron could even open his mouth. “Her methods are fine; her talents in potions transferred over to the culinary world. Her problem is that she so often gets distracted, that she ends up with bricks instead of bread.”

Ron nodded in agreement. “It’s a bit like eating ash.”

Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately, making a show of looking at the clock. “You know, if you all keep bashing Parvati’s cooking, your waffles will get cold.”

Choruses of gasps were heard, before a scuffle, each person trying to get to their respective stack of waffles.

* * *

 

The morning passed rather uneventfully, which was what Fred had hoped would happen. He wanted there to be no tells that something momentous would take place today; everything about his plan was to remain shrouded in secrecy until the opportune moment.

* * *

 Just after lunch, Fred decided now was as good a time as any to engage stage two. He found a place to stand, leaning against the entryway between the kitchen and the living room. He cleared his throat loudly, catching the attention of his twin and younger sister. He raised a brow and nodded.

Ginny got up from her spot on the couch, announcing that she was going to see if Hermione needed any help cleaning up lunch in the kitchen. As she passed her older brother, she squeezed his hand, as if in greeting. Seemingly, it was a completely innocuous action. Not even Harry, who’d been keeping an eye on Fred despite their reconciliation this morning, noticed the candy that the boy slipped his sister.

* * *

 

“Need any help, Hermione,” Ginny asked coolly, not even once betraying that she was up to something.

The bushy haired brunette smiled. “I’m nearly done, but thank you anyway.” Her eyes focused on the candy in Ginny’s hand. “What’s that?”

Ginny glanced down at the sweet. “Oh, it’s just a new candy Fred and George are testing. It’s got two flavors that are horrid together. It’s meant to be used as a harmless prank; your friends will simply end up with a nasty taste in their mouth.”

Hermione raised her brow at the little lozenge. She didn’t trust the little orange and purple thing. “Ginny, I hate to tell you, but that looks suspiciously like a Puking Pastille.”

Ginny shook her head. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s one of the new ones. They come in all sorts of color combinations; I think this one is cheese and molasses, but it’s meant to look like orange and grape.” She shrugged. “It was in the box with the rest of the new ones. I assume it’s safe.”

With that, she bit into the orange end of the sweet. Hermione eyed her warily.

A few seconds passed, and Ginny grinned. “See, ‘Mione? Nothing to…” Suddenly, the color drained from the redhead’s face. Her eyes widened, and she made a bolt for the bathroom.

Hermione dropped her face into her hand. Ginny, of all people, should know better than to trust anything the twins said regarding their pranking products. “Fred! George! Can you come here for a minute?”

Right on cue, the twins appeared in front of her, wide smiles conveying a sense of false innocence. “What can we do for you, milady,” George asked, bowing lowly.

She sighed. “You can go give your sister the remedy for your bloody Puking Pastilles. She found one lying around.”

Fred furrowed his brow. “Impossible. Mum banned the Snackboxes from the house.”

Hermione’s hands snapped to her hips. “Because something like rules has ever stopped the two of you.”

“We only did it because Teddy Lupin is here so often,” George offered. Fred nodded in assent. “The Snackboxes are too strong for someone so young. They’d hurt him.”

She nodded. “That is a legitimate reason, and I believe you. Still, your sister ate one of your candies and immediately got sick.”

The boys looked at each other in horrified realization. “She must’ve gotten a hold of one of our Deceptive Delicacies.”

“She said they were a harmless prank meant to taste horrible.”

Fred nodded. “Yeah. We got the idea from the Every Flavor Beans. What’s worse than eating a vomit-flavored bean and bogey-flavored bean in rapid succession? Eating them at the same time.”

“Are they supposed to make you sick?”

George shook his head. “No. They’re just supposed to taste bad. We modeled the design after the Pastilles.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Because that seemed like a wise decision?”

“If you eat them in one go, they work fine. The problem lies in biting them in half. For whatever reason, then they function like a Snackbox treat if you eat the ends individually.”

Hermione nodded pensively. “I think I know of a way to prevent that.”

The boys’ eyes lit up, momentarily forgetting that this whole escapade was the beginnings of stage two. “Really?”

She grinned. As if they could distract her that quickly. “I’ll tell you, but only if you go upstairs and help your poor sister. I’ll be up in a few minutes with some broth.”

Fred swooped down, kissing her on the cheek. “You’re a peach, Hermione.”

She bit her lip, certain that her blush had her resembling an apple far more closely than a peach. 

* * *

 

As soon as Hermione had delivered the broth and ensured that Ginny was in no danger, she took her leave, warning the boys that any more funny business would result in an owl to their mother.

“Can’t believe she’s still using our own mum against us,” George grumbled, handing the antidote to their corrupting candy to his grateful sister.

Suddenly feeling much better, Ginny snorted. “I can’t believe she bought that line of hogwash.”

“We didn’t lie. We’ve removed all the Snackboxes from the house. We are working on those new candies, and they are giving us problems. You just didn’t eat one of the new ones.”

Ginny punched Fred lightly in the arm. “Whatever. I still can’t believe that people willingly buy things that will make them feel so horrible.”

She poked her head into the hall, ascertaining that Hermione wouldn’t hear her summon the bag from their shared room.

Catching the fast-approaching bag with the practiced hands of a Chaser, she turned to her brothers with an evil grin.

“Now for my favorite part of phase two.”

* * *

 “Ow! Gin! I’ve already lost an ear! I don’t need to lose an eye!”

Ginny scowled. “Stay still. I’m nearly done.” Using the sponge on the opposite end of the eyeliner pencil, she smudged the thick line of black kohl until it took on a smoky appearance. “There. That’s finished.”

George batted his eyelids, trying to get used to the makeup. “Are you sure this is necessary?” He cringed, blinking rapidly, the kohl stinging his eyes. “It seems a bit excessive.”

Ginny raised a brow. “I endured the effects of your stupid candies for over half an hour. I think you can deal with this for the ten minutes it will take for us to complete stage two of this plan. You are wizards, after all. You can just magic it all away.”

George rolled his eyes, perturbed, but still realizing that Ginny was right. “Fine.” He turned his gaze to his twin. “However, I just want to point out that in two decades of pranking, this is easily the strangest thing you’ve ever asked me to do, Freddie.”

Fred smirked, while Ginny scoffed, somewhat scarred by the sight of her brothers at the moment, though more entertained by how good her legs looked in fishnets. “Well, he’s not wrong, Fred.” She gestured to the mirror. “Go on. Tell me what you think.”

Fred’s eyes widened upon seeing his reflection. “It’s doesn’t even look like us, Gin.”

She clapped her brothers on their backs. “We look pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

The twins weren’t so sure they agreed.

Fred would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a bit exposed. This grey vest top that Ginny had provided left his arms and most of his chest uncovered, and the fabric did nothing to conceal his torso; it hugged each of his muscles. The leather pants she’d forced him to squeeze into were even worse. Looking down, Fred blushed to realize that they left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Even the clunky, steel-toed boots seemed to hug him.

George wasn’t much better off in the wardrobe department. He was pretty sure the black jeans were cutting off his circulation.

Fred examined his face. “Are you sure that all the makeup and piercings are necessary? The men in the band only had fat hair.” Gesturing to his hair, which was currently in a state of disarray that would put Harry’s to shame, he said, “You’ve certainly nailed that.”

“Don’t question my genius, Frederick.”

He lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m not. Promise. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

He sighed in exasperation. “I have a metal bar through my tongue, for Circe’s sake! Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”

Ginny leveled a glare at her older brother. “Like I said before, you’re a wizard. You can magic it away.” Her expression turned devious. “Although, I read that tongue piercings are supposed to be a really big turn-on for a lot of women.”

Fred and George turned to stare incredulously at each other.

Ginny laughed at their obvious distress. She stepped forward, taking her older brother’s hand. “Come on, Freddie. Let’s go get your girl.” 

* * *

 

“And you two have everything else in order?” This was at least the tenth time that Fred had stopped his twin and sister on the way to the kitchen.

Ginny sighed. “For the millionth time, yes! We have the DC- ”

“CD,” Fred corrected.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. George has the music ready, and I have the Sugar Shells on hand.” She waved them in front of his face to emphasize her point.

“We’re just waiting on your order, captain,” George said quietly.

Fred nodded, his brow furrowed, and his jaw set. Swallowing hard, he met his siblings’ gazes. “Mischief?”

“Managed.”

* * *

 “Hermione,” Fred called warily, stepping into the kitchen. “I’m coming in now.”

She sighed, mildly amused. “Look, I’m upset that Ginny got sick, but I’m not going to…what on earth are you wearing?” Her gaze traced his body, and, to Fred’s delight, her cheeks flamed a brilliant scarlet as they raked over his leather clad lower half.

“See something you like,” he purred wolfishly.

She bit her lip. “I…um…well…” Swallowing hard in a weak effort to compose herself, she leveled her gaze on his eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Clothes,” he replied sardonically, drawing closer to her. “I thought that was fairly obvious.” He stooped, bringing his face nearer to hers.

Nervously, Hermione stepped back, gasping when her spine knocked against the counter. Eyeing the floor, she stammered, “M-more to the p-point, _w-why_ are you wearing that?”

He stepped back, his trademark trickster smirk spreading across his face. Without breaking eye contact with Hermione, he called, “George, if you will.”

George smiled, throwing a thumbs-up to his sister, who was hiding across the room. She held up the Sugar Shells, mouthing, “At the ready.” He flicked his wand, beginning the music.

Hermione’s head snapped up, immediately recognizing the opening riff. “Fred wha-”

Fred cut off her words by pressing a finger to her lips. “You’ll see.”

With that, he jumped on top of the table.

At this point, Harry and Ron had ventured downstairs to see what all the fuss was about. Ginny silenced any notions they had about asking what was going on with a fiery glare.

Hermione, meanwhile, was surmising the boy currently atop Molly Weasley’s kitchen table. She raised a brow. “Your mother would kill you if she saw this.”

Ignoring her comment, he began singing along with the song, his frame rolling with the rhythm.

The brunette could help but stare; it wasn’t everyday that a rather fit young man, one with whom she was rather smitten, was swinging his leather clad hips at her eye level, singing a blatantly suggestive song to her.

Fred smirked at the sight of Hermione gawking at him so unabashedly. Throwing a quick wink to her, he leapt down, landing in a crouch at her feet. Gingerly, he stretched his hands out till they just ghosted over her ankles. He languidly stood, trailing his hands up the sides of her body as he went.

“F-Fred,” she breathed, trembling. Hermione had no clue what was going on here. If she didn’t know better, she’d think that Fred was trying to beguile her. “ _That’s impossible,_ ” she thought. “ _Unless…._ ” She shook her head as if it might rid her mind of such notions; no sense filling her head up with false hope only to be disappointed.

In the meantime, the first chorus began, and George and Ginny came out of their hiding spots. They flanked either side of the kitchen table, joining their brother in singing and dancing.

“Merlin, Morgana, and Medusa,” Hermione exclaimed, hiding her reddening face behind her hands. “I’m hallucinating. This isn’t real.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron and Harry, gaping. At least they appeared as befuddled as she felt. She called out to them. “Please tell me we’re all stuck in the same warped dream. This can’t be real.”

She never saw what their answer was. Smirking devilishly, Fred set his hands low on her hips, drawing Hermione close, his hot breath caressing her face. “I’m real, baby.”

The deep, indecent tenor of his voice set her whimpering, and she grabbed onto his biceps in an attempt to keep herself upright.

Just then, the second chorus began, and Ginny dashed one of the Sugar Shells to the ground, according to their plan.

Fred knew it was coming, and was expecting a cloud of sugary smoke to form, providing a modicum of privacy in which to confess his feelings.

He was not expecting to be covered, along with Hermione, in a sugary paste. Sheepishly, he offered up, “Oops?”

The disdain with Hermione looked at him was more crushing than any wall could be. “So, it was all a lie. It was just another joke to you.”

Fred cursed. “No…it was never…I only meant…it wasn’t…”

She held up a hand, silencing him. “Save it. Don’t hide your pride. You’ve finally pulled one over on the great Hermione Granger. I congratulate you. I’ll let you enjoy your moment of victory.”

She brushed past him, before pausing a moment and turning to face him again. “And Fred? One more thing.”

A resounding smack sounded, and she was gone.

There was an unbearable beat of silence, finally broken by Ron. “Fred, you’re my brother, and I love you, but you are a great big bag of dicks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback is so important to me! Let me know what you thought of the chapter! Was it what you expected? How will Fred fix the mess (pun completely intended)? Leave a comment with your thoughts! As always thanks for the wonderful feedback, and thank you for reading!


	6. Tell Her About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will the fallout of a failed Stage Two bring to Fred, Hermione, and the rest of the gang?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! I actually kept my promise of punctuality. Go me! Huzzah!  
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Thanks to all who have left comments, kudos, or bookmarks.  
> Disclaimer: I only own my plot.

Fred opened his mouth ineffectually. Right now he should be snogging Hermione, not standing in the kitchen covered in a sugar paste, having lost any prayer of winning her heart.

George bit his lip, and clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Fred. I don’t know how this happened,” he murmured. “We’ve tested that new batch of Sugar Shells a million times! That reaction only happened with the first batch. I thought we had it sorted.”

Ginny winced. “That first batch wouldn’t happen to have been sitting on the workbench, would it?”

The twins groaned.

“You didn’t tell me which ones to grab! I just nabbed the ones that were easiest to reach! You were the ones who decided this whole kerfuffle need a little ‘something extra’.”

“I knew we went overboard somewhere,” Fred said finally. The anticlimax of the statement sent George and Ginny into hysterics.

Despite the sorrow in his heart, Fred couldn’t help but laugh with them.

Harry clenched his hands into fists, storming toward the sugarcoated ginger. He should have trusted his instincts; he _knew_ that Fred was up to something. He grabbed the redhead by the collar, bringing them eye to eye; despite Harry being nearly a whole foot shorter, the action was no less menacing to Fred. “This is unforgivable.” He threw Fred to the floor and raised his wand.

“Expelliarmus,” cried Ginny, George, and Ron, before Harry could even utter an incantation. The force of the combined spells sent both Harry and his wand flying backwards. The trio rushed to their older brother’s side; Fred was obviously petrified in terror. Quietly, Ginny whispered, “Scourgify,” before helping him to his feet.

“You’re protecting him,” Harry spat, slowly standing. “After what he’s done, you’re protecting him?”

The three youngest Weasley’s eyes were filled with hellfire.

“He’s our brother,” Ron snarled.

“He’s my twin,” George snapped.

“Hermione’s your sister,” Harry defended.

Ginny hissed, “For all intents and purposes, yes, but blood is thicker than water, Harry Potter. At the moment, I’m more worried about the kind of spell you just tried to cast on my brother. I don’t care that you’ve been treated as a part of this family for near a decade, or that you’re my boyfriend. If you ever try to cast an Unforgivable on Fred, or any of _my_ family, ever again, I’ll snap your wand, and that will be the last thing you ever see before I snap your neck.”

Harry was furious. “I can’t believe this! You’re just going to let him emotionally terrorize Hermione simply because you’re family?”

Fred finally snapped out of his stupor. “What are you talking about? I’m not trying to emotionally terrorize her? I’m trying to…” His eyes went wide. “Oh Merlin, Hermione!”

He made to dash up the stairs, but Ginny grabbed his arm, stopping him short.

“Let me go! The longer she’s up there alone, the harder it’ll be to convince her that this was a mistake!” He pulled, but Ginny’s grip held.

“I agree,” she soothed, “and at some point you should talk to her, but not right now. She’s too angry with you to listen to anything you say. I’m the one that caused this mess, so I’ll be the one to calm her down. Then you can talk to her.”

Admitting defeat, Fred bowed his head.

Ginny gently touched her fist to his jaw. “Chin up. It’ll all work out in the end.”

“I hope so, Gin.”

She smiled knowingly. “It will. I promise. In the meantime, you and George should explain everything to Ron and Dr. Banner.”

Fred’s brow furrowed. “Dr. Who?”

“Muggle reference. Sorry.” She shook her head. “Just, explain everything to these two nutters. You’re not going to get much farther with Harry raging about in his ignorance, and Ron just went to bat for your sorry arse; he, at least, deserves to know. ”

She inhaled deeply, before setting her jaw. “Well, here goes nothing.”

With that, she flew up the stairs. 

* * *

 

Harry rounded on Fred once again. “I believe you have some explaining to do?”

The older boy nodded. “Yes.” He bit his lip, wondering aloud where to begin.

“I’d start with why you covered ‘Mione in sugar paste,” Ron suggested. His voice held no anger, as he was granting his brother the benefit of the doubt.

“Well, first of all, this wasn’t supposed to happen like this. While I certainly meant it to be a bit funny,” he conceded, gesturing to the frankly ridiculous attire he and George were wearing, “I never meant it as a prank. Gin grabbed the wrong Sugar Shells.”

Harry looked skeptical. “The wrong Sugar Shells?”

“I know it sounds like a lie, but he’s telling the truth,” George interjected. “They’re supposed to create a sugar cloud, but our first batch produced what you saw today. We’ve been trying to salvage them, so they sat out on our workbench. Ginny grabbed those instead of ones from the new batch.”

“I see. So, what was the purpose of this spectacle,” Harry asked dubiously.

“I wanted to make her happy,” Fred answered honestly. “She hasn’t been herself since the War, and I know it’s because she misses her parents. I mean, they’re safe, but at what cost?”

Ron’s eyebrow arched. “And your brilliant idea was to act like you’re mental, singing Muggle music?”

Fred blushed, a grin crossing his face. “Well, Hermione may have mentioned to me that she likes Muggle rock and roll. She loaned me some Muggle CDs, and this idea just came to me. I reckoned it couldn’t hurt to try.” He chuckled softly. “I’ll admit it got a bit out of hand. The piercings and eyeliner were Ginny’s idea.” He looked up, his eyes shining. “Still, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Hermione.”

Harry scoffed, unable to contain his bitter laughter. “When did you start caring about Hermione?”

Ron turned to his best friend, incredulous. “What kind of question is that, Harry? For as long as he’s known her, I’d hope he’s begun caring about her.”

“No. No, that’s not what I meant.” Harry began to circle Fred, stalking him like a bird of prey. “See, Freddie here has known me the same amount of time, but he doesn’t care about me like that.”

Fred was mildly offended. “Excuse me? First of all, I’ve been there for you loads of times. Don’t you dare say that I don’t care about you. Secondly, stop with the bloody circling already! Merlin, were you a vulture in another life?”

Harry made a show of coming to a halt, hands on his hips, his steady gaze directed at the redhead. “I didn’t say you don’t care about me. I said that you don’t care about me _like that._ You see, Freddie, you wouldn’t swing you arm around me while I read to you in French. You wouldn’t become so protective over me if my best friend and I got into such an inconsequential argument. You wouldn’t dress like a loon and pierce your tongue just to see me smile. However, you would for Hermione. I want to know why.”

Fred stared at his adoptive brother. “You can’t tell me you haven’t figured it out?”

Harry shrugged. “I have an idea, but that’s irrelevant. You didn’t answer my question. Why is she getting special treatment?”

Fred laughed. “Oh, Morgana! Gin wasn’t kidding when she said you were inobservant.”

“Answer the question, Fred.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous.” He laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry you’re feeling neglected, but you’re not getting special treatment ‘cause you’re not the one I’m in love with, mate.”

The brunet’s eyes widened. Fred was not the sort of person who tossed the word “love” around lightly. In fact, Harry couldn’t recall ever hearing the word out of the redhead’s mouth, not even in reference to his family. Harry was dumbfounded. He’d never even considered the fact that Fred might be treating Hermione out of genuine feelings, let alone ones as strong as love. Harry dropped his head into his hands. “Well, I feel like a right tosser.” He looked up at Fred, shame heavy on his features. “I suppose I owe you another apology. I’m sorry I - ”

“Wait, I’m lost,” Ron interrupted. “What just happened? Why are you apologizing, Harry?”

The other boys laughed. “I may be a tosser,” Harry choked out, finally, “but at least I’m not a complete moron.” He turned to face his best friend. “Ron, long story short, I almost cursed your brother because I thought he was taking advantage of our best friend. Turns out, I have a bit of an irrational temper, and your brother’s in love.”

“Who’s he in love with?”

Fred groaned. “You’re such an idiot. I’m in love with Hermione!” 

* * *

 

Hermione’s heart was in tatters.

“You knew better,” she muttered to herself. “You knew better than to think that it was for real.”

Swallowing, she straightened her spine. She was Hermione Granger. She’d allowed herself to become broken up over a boy before; it was not an experience she cared to repeat. She swiped angrily at the tears that slid down her face, refusing to betray any sense of emotion.

That was far more easily said than done.

A searing pain seemed to emanate from her chest, and she dropped to her knees, the tears beginning anew.

Suddenly, she found herself no longer sugarcoated, and turned to see the saddened face of Ginny Weasley.

“Did you come here to have a laugh at me, too?”

The redhead shook her head. “Of course not, Hermione.” She offered a hand to the girl, bringing her to her feet. “I came to make sure you were alright.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “I will be. It’s not the first time someone’s had a laugh at my expense. I’ll get over it.”

Ginny brushed a curly tendril from Hermione’s face. “We weren’t…he wasn’t having a laugh at you.”

Hermione smiled weakly. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Ginny.”

“Now you listen to me, Hermione Granger. You know better than anyone that if Fred’s intentions had been malicious, not only would I be downstairs throwing a bat-bogey hex at him, but I’d also never have been involved in his plan in the first place.”

Hermione looked up suddenly, realizing the truth in Ginny’s words. Despite her best efforts, her hopes rose; she set her jaw, as if doing so could tamp down her raging emotions. “What were his intentions, in that case? Did he think I’d enjoy being turned into a pastry?”

Ginny bowed her head sheepishly. “That was my fault.”

The brunette merely raised a brow.

“Sugar Shells are supposed to create a cloud of sugary smoke. Only the boys’ first batch reacted like that. I hadn’t realized that they were trying to salvage the first batch, so when I went to grab some, I picked the first ones I came across.”

“The ones from the first batch,” Hermione said, beginning to understand.

Ginny nodded. “I’m sorry about that. It’s my fault Fred’s plan failed miserably.”

The older witch chewed at her thumbnail absentmindedly. “What was his plan, then?”

“He was trying to make you happy.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. He wants to make you happy, even if that means dressing in leather and piercing his tongue. He’d do anything for you. Umbridge’s pink knickers, he…” Ginny trailed off, realizing she’d almost revealed too much.

“He what,” Hermione wanted to know. _Did she dare to hope?_

Ginny took her friend’s hands in her own. “Hermione,” she answered very seriously, “I think you know the answer to that question.”

Stubbornly, the brunette shook her head.

“Either way,” Ginny continued solemnly, “it’s not my place to answer it. This is one question you’re going to have to ask Fred yourself.”

Suddenly, the brunette was overcome with guilt. “What if he doesn’t want to see me? I mean, for Circe’s sake, I hit him across the face.”

Ginny grinned, cupping the other girl’s cheek. “Trust me. He’ll want to see you. You could have thrown a Cruciatus at him, and he’d still want to see you.”

Hermione nodded, finally allowing hope to wash over her. “Alright. I’ll go talk to him.”

The redhead’s face split into a brilliant smile. “Atta girl!”

Hermione’s hand hesitated over the doorknob. “Did he really pierce his tongue?”

Ginny rolled her eyes affectionately, throwing a pillow at Hermione. “Ask him yourself. Go on. Shoo.” 

* * *

 

“Merlin’s Hat! He’s gone catatonic!”

Fred had quickly reiterated to Ron what he’d just told Harry, but the explanation had seemingly stupefied his youngest brother.

Ron was perched on the edge of his mother’s kitchen table, his hands resting on his knees, and his eyes staring, unblinkingly, at Fred. No amount of poking or prodding from Harry could make his best friend budge.

Fred began to panic. Everyone knew that Ron had harbored a crush on Hermione for almost as long as he’d known her, and most knew that she might have returned the feelings for a time. However, it had become more evident in recent months that her affections for the youngest Weasley son were dwindling rapidly, if not gone altogether.

There had been no animosity between Ron and Hermione, so Fred assumed that his baby brother had gotten over his feelings for the witch. What if he was wrong? No matter how much he loved Hermione, he couldn’t let anything come between him and his brother. He couldn’t betray him that way. He wouldn’t.

“Ron,” he asked shakily, crouching down to eye level. “Say something! Please! I know how much you care about her! I’m sorry! I don’t –”

Ron held up a hand to silence his older brother, who flinched slightly. “Hermione Granger is my best friend. I would never kill my own brother, but if you ever hurt her, you’ll wish for death by the time I’m done with you.”

Fred nodded emphatically, knowing that Ron meant every word he said.

“Can I offer you a word of advice about Hermione?”

The eldest twin’s eyes brightened; he’d take any advice on the girl, even if it came from his annoying baby brother. “Please.”

Ron chewed his lip for a moment. “Hermione once said that I had the emotional range of a teaspoon.” He shook his head in amusement. “She was right. She’s one of the most important people in my life, and I never once told her until she’d already moved on from me. Don’t make the same mistake I made. Tell her how you feel.”

“I will.” He paused, rubbing his chin nervously. “At least, if she’ll give me the chance.”

Just then, Hermione walked into the kitchen. “Fred, could I speak with you for a moment?”

All eyes were on the aforementioned redhead, and he swallowed audibly. “Of course.”

Her eyes darted to the other three men in the room. “Harry? George? Ron? Could you give us a minute?”

Nodding, the three seemingly retreated upstairs.

The two stood in silence for a moment, Fred fiddling with his earring, Hermione twirling a strand of her hair.

“Fred, look…”

“Hermione, I’m…”

They stopped, smiling at each other, as they’d spoken simultaneously. “You go first, love,” Fred offered finally, breaking the silence.

“Thank you.” She bit her lip, unsure of where to start.

Words failing her, she darted forward, throwing her arms around his neck.

Fred happily returned the embrace, his larger frame nearly engulfing her. “Does this mean I’m forgiven,” he murmured into her hair.

At this, Hermione stepped away, so that she could look him in the eye. “There is nothing to forgive. Ginny explained everything to me.”

“Did she now,” he asked nervously, his spine stiff as a rail. Had Ginny revealed his secret? “And, by everything, you mean…”

“She explained that you were just trying to do something nice for me, and that it went a bit awry.” She raked a hand through her bushy mane. “I can’t believe that I ever doubted you.” She looked up at him, earnestly. “Thank you, Fred.”

His eyebrow rose. “For what?”

“For…being you. For every wonderful thing you’ve ever done for me.”

He smirked. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you,” he replied truthfully.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Hermione’s gaze focused on his mouth. “Including piercing your tongue?”

Blushing, Fred opened his mouth so that she could see. Her eyes were wide in what he could only assume was horror. Backpedaling quickly, he blurted, “I know it looks bad, but it was Ginny’s idea. I’m getting rid of it tonight!”

“No! Don’t,” Hermione interjected. At his incredulous stare, her cheeks stained red. “I mean, if you want to get rid of it, it’s your choice. I just…”

“You just what?”

She wrung her hands. “I don’t think it looks bad. I…uh…I kind of like it. It’s pretty hot.” She gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth, shocked and dismayed at the words she had just spoken. It was her turn to backtrack. “What I mean to say is…”

Fred couldn’t help it; he had to snicker at her flustered state. After a moment, Hermione found herself succumbing to the infectious nature of his laughter, despite her utter embarrassment.

As their giggling ebbed, Fred reached for her hand. “Do you trust me?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she answered, placing her hand in his.

At his devilish grin, she suddenly regretted that answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought!


	7. Living on a Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and Hermione have reconciled, and it seems she's going to give him a second chance. All is well with the world, right?  
> .*laughs* Yeah right. Knowing their luck, they don't have a prayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midterms are upon us! Because of this, there has been a delay in posting, and, though I know you are accustomed to fairly lengthy chapters, this one is relatively short. I promise that the next chapters will be up to par!   
> As an aside, I know the chapter is titled "Living on a Prayer," but that's not the song that inspired the chapter. Well, not technically. "Prayer '94" inspired this chapter; it's literally the same song, just slower and acoustic. Bon Jovi decided to remix "Livin' on a Prayer" in 1994, and I'm so glad he did.   
> Phew! Now that all of that is out of the way, on with the chapter! Hope you all enjoy!  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my plot, and am making no financial gain from this work.

“I know that devious look. Should I be worried?”

Fred dramatically clasped his free hand to his chest. “You wound me, Miss Granger! I’m strictly on the side of the angels! When have you ever known me to be devious?”

She sighed affectionately. “Fine. Mischievous.”

Fred gently twined their fingers together. “Either way, the answer to your question is no. You’ve nothing to fear, love.” Bringing their joined hands up to his mouth, he tenderly kissed the back of Hermione’s hand. Without removing his lips from her skin, he met her gaze, winking impishly.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Despite the bite in her tone, Hermione didn’t retract her hand from his grasp; instead, she pulled their hands away from his lips, guiding them to rest at their sides.

Fred felt a flush bloom across his cheeks. “My plan didn’t go exactly as expected. I thought, perhaps, I might persuade you into giving me a second chance.” When she didn’t answer right away, he hurriedly added, “I mean you don’t have to give me one. I just thought…”

“Are there going to be anymore Sugar Shells,” she interjected sardonically.

Fred shook his head, his smile sheepish. “No.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. It’ll be just you and me, beautiful.”

Hermione bit her lip, blushing at the term of endearment. Composing herself, she nodded imperiously. “Permission to redeem yourself granted, Mr. Weasley.”

The crimson staining Fred’s cheeks deepened, obscuring his many freckles, as a confident Hermione was, in his opinion, the most attractive Hermione. “Right then,” he muttered. With his free hand, Fred flicked his wand lazily; the opening notes of a song immediately familiar to Hermione began to play. In an uncharacteristically shy manner, he asked, “Dance with me?”

She nodded, finding herself irrationally nervous.

He bent down, once again pressing his lips to the knuckles of the hand he still held. As he stood, he brought her hand to rest on his shoulder. Splaying one of his large hands on the small of her back, he drew her closer until there was but a hairsbreadth of space between them. Gently, he weaved the fingers of their free hands together.

Sensing the rigid set of her spine, he asked, “What’s the matter, love?”

Hermione swallowed audibly. “I’m…I’m not a terribly skilled dancer.” It wasn’t completely untrue; while competent, she did not have a natural inclination towards being graceful on the dance floor. However, her tension at this moment had more to do with the fact that Fred Weasley was holding her close than it did with her two left feet.

He smirked. “Well, luckily for you, I happen to be a wonderful dancer.” He gently lifted her off the ground, moving her to stand on his feet.

“Fred? What are you…?”

“Shh. Just follow my lead.” When her muscles didn’t unwind, Fred leaned down to whisper into her ear. “Relax, Hermione. Remember, it’s just you and me.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath to compose herself. At Fred’s reassuring smile, she finally allowed him to guide her in a small circle on the kitchen floor.

* * *

 

As the song progressed, Hermione felt herself become more and more at ease, a small smile ghosting its way onto her face. She even found herself laughing unashamedly when Fred dipped her back over his arm.

“There you go,” Fred murmured happily, looking at her with unabashed adoration.

His expression did not go unnoticed by Hermione, and suddenly the question that had been burning in her mind turned to an inferno. “Why are you doing all this?”

Fred’s bit his lip; he knew what she was truly asking, and, if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t prepared to answer that. “I told you already, love. I wanted to cheer you up.”

Hermione saw right through his evasion tactic, and raised her brow knowingly. “Don’t lie to me, Fred Weasley. You’ve always been one to do anything for a smile, but you’ve never done anything this elaborate.”

He scoffed, feigning indignation to hide the fear causing him to skirt around her question. “You don’t think the swamp and Farewell Flares took elaborate planning?”

“I’ve no doubt of that. However, those are everyday things for you. Quite literally, they are the tricks of your trade.” She nodded towards his piercings. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve never pierced you tongue just for a lark.”

His cheeks flushed; she had him backed into a proverbial corner. “Hermione, I…”

He swallowed hard, unsure of where to go from here; he’d never fully planned out what he was going to say to her. He’d expected that the lyrics of the song and his corresponding actions would be enough for her to deduce his intentions, and that as a result, he wouldn’t have to verbalize his feelings. It was a foolish plan of action, retrospectively, but discussing matters of the heart wasn’t exactly his forte; it never had been.

Hermione raised her eyebrows impatiently. “Well?”

He decided the best course of action was to retaliate in kind, and back her into a literal corner. Crowding her against the counter, he breathed, “Haven’t you guessed it? I doubt someone as brilliant as you could miss something as obvious as this.” Despite his bold exterior, internally he was begging her to understand his meaning without him having to spell it out for her; how tragic it would be to come this close, only to lose any chance he had because of a slip of the tongue.

Hermione, for her part, was suddenly suffering similar inner turmoil. She felt something akin to an electric shock at his unexpected extreme nearness, and his words were quite nearly incapacitating to her. She couldn’t seem to hold on to a single coherent thought.

“Hermione, please,” she heard him whisper.

That brought her back to reality. She was not the sort of girl to swoon into the embrace of a simpering, flirtatious male. She was Hermione Granger, the girl who thrived on truth and knowledge. Whatever Fred was implying could not be considered fact until she heard him say it himself. She inhaled deeply, gathering every ounce she possessed of Gryffindor bravery, and a borrowed amount of Slytherin cunning. “Perhaps I have guessed, and I just want to hear you say it out loud,” she murmured wickedly, her eyes focusing on his mouth.

He did not miss the shift in her gaze, and despite the renewed blush it brought to his cheeks, it did give him an idea. It was a reckless idea, and certainly one that could end poorly, but an idea nonetheless.

What did he care if it was a rash decision; he was a Gryffindor, wasn’t he?

“ _A doomed Gryffindor,_ ” he thought despairingly. In his head, he could hear George admonishing him. _This is what you get for falling in love with our princess._

He couldn’t help agreeing with his brother. However, looking down nervously into Hermione’s expectant eyes, George’s voice was replaced by Ginny’s. _Where’s that Gryffindor bravado? Snog her already!_

Stifling a snicker at his phantom sister’s words, Fred coiled an arm around Hermione’s torso, holding her flush against him. His other hand twisted into her curls. He smirked at the gasp his actions caused.

“How about I show you instead?”

Any hope that Hermione had of retaining her fact-finding self flew out the window at that huskily muttered phrase. She seized his shoulders in an attempt to keep her knees from buckling. Weakly, she breathed, “You swear there aren’t any more Sugar Shells?”

“I swear it on my Uncle Gideon's grave,” he murmured lightheartedly, using his grip in her hair to tip up her face.

“Promise me.”

He rested his forehead against hers, knowing that she was no longer asking about the trick products. “I give you my word.”

Hermione met his gaze, and saw that Fred’s usually bright, playful eyes had grown dark and full of longing. Despite the change, she was glad to see that none of their honesty had dimmed. Shyly, she nodded assent, knowingly that she could trust him fully.

One side of his mouth quirked imperceptibly, and his eyes slowly closed as his head languidly inclined towards her.

She stood on her toes to meet him halfway.

Their lips met, and for a moment they forgot everything except for the person they were kissing.

Just then, the music stopped, and reality hit Hermione like a cold splash of water. Her brain was only just processing that Fred Weasley had her pinned against his mother’s kitchen counter, and was kissing her soundly.

A smile came unbidden to her lips, and the positive reaction encouraged Fred; he tightened his grasp on her, deepening the kiss. She snaked a hand up to tangle in his fiery hair, the other hand gently caressing his jaw.

Merlin, Morgana, and Medusa! How many times had she dreamed about doing this again? It had been hard not to do so, especially with the memories she had to supply them.

Unfortunately, those sweet memories were tied to much more horrid ones, and she couldn’t keep her mind from following the dismal path to them.

Horror froze her. The last time she’d kissed Fred was immediately after saving him from an imminent demise, brought on by a war against her kind.

Unbidden, the faces of all the people she’d lost over the years since entering the Wizarding World flashed in her mind like a film reel.

Death, devastation, and loss seemed to trail her wherever she went; it was only by sheer dumb luck that she’d managed to save the man in her arms. Her soul filled with dread, and she abruptly pulled away, her eyes wide in terror. She ducked under Fred’s arm, attempting to flee the scene, but he caught her elbow with one hand. “Hermione?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t,” she blurted, before dashing up the stairs.

Fred sighed in defeat, raking a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope you enjoyed this admittedly short chapter! Please, let me know what you think!   
> Thank you to all who have left comments, kudos, or have bookmarked this fic! I am blushing at all the support!


	8. It's Like Déjà Vu All Over Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a heartbreaking sense of déjà vu for our lovebirds and their compatriots. What will be the outcome?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only a few days late in posting this! Hooray! I'm not a fail whale of a writer! School is back in session, but I'm finding that I might have more time to work on this fic, as I've learned (finally) how to manage my time!  
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!   
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I making any money off of this work.

Harry, George, and Ron were halfway to the attic, when George turned back to face the younger boys. From his pocket he pulled an Extendable Ear. Grinning devilishly, he murmured, “Anyone up for a bit of espionage?”

Ron and Harry sighed in relief, their smiles as wide. “We thought you’d never ask.”

George smirked, returned the Ears to his pocket, and held out his hands. “C’mon. We’ll apparate; we’ll miss all the good parts if we walk.”

Ron already had his wand drawn. “Way ahead of you, big brother.”

* * *

 Ginny had crept down the stairs only minutes after Hermione had, taking up a post in the stairwell leading to the kitchen, missing her brothers and Harry by mere seconds. She had not been there long, when suddenly a pop sounded, and she found herself teetering on the edge of the penultimate step. Before she could fall, a hand yanked her back, and she landed in Harry’s arms.

“What’re you doing,” George hissed. “We could’ve been exposed, or, worse, splinched!”

“What do you think? Same as you, I’m planning to do a little reconnaissance.” She peeked around the corner, and waved them forward. “It’s just getting good.”

George handed Ginny one end of the Extendable Ears; she held it out towards the kitchen, amplifying Fred and Hermione’s conversation for the quartet.

Ginny cast a Silencing Spell, knowing full well that the four of them would keep a running commentary going. 

* * *

 

What a wise decision it was. If not for the wonders of _Muffliato_ , Fred and Hermione would surely have heard the ruckus coming from the staircase. For the most part, the noise had stayed within the protective range of the charm, though Ginny thought it a miracle.

Anytime Fred’s piercings were mentioned, Ron gagged a little. “Merlin, I hope he’s not keeping them! They’re hideous! I hope ‘Mione was kidding about liking the tongue one!”

Every time Hermione or Fred said or did something decidedly less than innocent, George took to praising their efforts. “Hermione, you little minx! Are you going to take that from her? Ooh, apparently not! Nice going, Freddie, you handsome devil!”

Harry grumbled whenever Fred so much as touched Hermione. “He’d better watch where he’s putting those hands if he wants to keep them. Hasn’t he ever heard of personal space? Leave room for Circe!”

Ginny shushed her three compatriots anytime they opened their mouths. “Shut up, you plonkers! We’ve buggered up this plan once today; I don’t care for a repeat!”

Then, of course, the moment they’d all been waiting for came, and for a moment, there was dead silence. It was broken by a high-pitched squeal.

Ginny clapped a hand over George’s mouth, silencing his girlish coo of delight.

“Shut up, you big girl’s blouse,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “The charm’s not that good; you’ll blow our cover!

Rolling his eyes, he shoved her hand away from his mouth. “It’s not as though they don’t know we’re here.”

Ginny smacked his arm. “Doesn’t mean they want you ruining the moment with all your caterwauling.” She threw a cursory glance over her shoulder at the other snoops. “They’re lucky these two haven’t already.”

Ron gritted his teeth. “It’s complicated, Gin. We want to treat him to a pint to celebrate a good snog.”

“But we want to hex him because it’s Hermione he’s snogging,” Harry finished.

“Well, maybe not hex him,” Ron countered. “Hermione wouldn’t be too happy with us if we did that. Maybe we’ll just give him a good sock in the jaw. Nothing a quick _Episkey_ wouldn’t fix.”

George smirked. “Yeah, you’re better off not using magic. Remember what happened when you tried to hex Draco?”

Ron groaned ruefully. “Can’t you let that go? That was in second year!”

“He had a broken wand,” Harry added helpfully.

“It’s not my fault you drove Dad’s Anglia into the Whomping Willow.”

The boys were about to break into a full-blown argument when Ginny shushed them. “Look!”

They all peered around the corner, distraught to find that Hermione had pushed by Fred, and was barreling past them, obviously in tears.

“Oh, not this again,” Ginny groaned.

Ron clicked his tongue in dismay. “Anyone else got a sense of déjà vu?”

The others rolled their eyes. “Really, Ron? Was that necessary?”

“He’s not wrong,” a voice replied suddenly, coming from the kitchen. The four turned to meet Fred, who had just reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’m not sure why I expected a different outcome.”

George stepped forward after a moment, hating to see his twin so distraught. “Hey, why don’t we go round the Leaky Cauldron and get a pint? Whaddya say, Freddie? ”

For the first time in his life, Fred couldn’t find it in himself to even crack a smile. “Thanks, but, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be alone for a while.”

“Um, yeah, sure,” George murmured, staring as his brother brushed past him. He was incredulous; Fred had never been the type to sit and wallow in his misery. It just wasn’t his style.

After a lingering pause, one that lasted far beyond the point where Fred’s retreating back had disappeared from view, Ginny stated, “This just will not do.” She turned to the boys. “You three, go and get yourselves something to eat, and bring back something for me, please. I’ll see if I can knock some sense into our flailing lovebirds.” With that, she took off up the stairs.

George turned to his fellows. “Well, lads, looks like we’re on our own for the night.” He paused. “I could use that pint right about now.”

Ron and Harry nodded agreement, and the trio made for the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

 

Hermione had flung herself across her bed, the sobs coming so fast they overlapped. She snuggled deep into the covers, hoping that they might swallow her whole.

Crookshanks, having heard his mistress’ cries, padded into the room. Jumping onto the bed, he nuzzled her hand away from her face.

She couldn’t help but chuckle affectionately at the half-cat, half-Kneazle. “Oh, Crookie. What am I going to do?”

He meowed before licking Hermione’s forehead and burrowing into her hair.

Just then, a breathless Ginny appeared in the doorway. “What the ruddy hell happened,” she shouted.

Whatever Hermione’s answer might’ve been was lost amidst the sea of pillows and blankets in which she’d buried herself, and was currently nestling into more deeply.

Ginny sighed. “Now you’re just being childish.” Grabbing her wand, she muttered, “Levicorpus.”

Crookshanks yowled at being displaced, and Hermione let out a shriek at suddenly finding herself airborne. “What are you doing?”

Ginny smirked. “Stopping you moping. Now,” she said, lowering her friend back on to the bed. “Tell me what happened.”

Hermione glowered at the redhead; if Ginny had been listening more intently, she’d know that she didn’t want to talk about it. “Look, it’s not as though you don’t know. I wasn’t completely oblivious to the fact that your brother and I had an audience.” She bit back a sob, wondering aloud why Ginny wanted her to verbally rehash all of that.

The ginger groaned, flopping across her own bed. “Fine. I’ll admit that we were spying, but last time I checked, none of us are Legilimens; I want to know why you ran. Tell me your thought process.”

Hermione bit her lip, turning away from Ginny. “There’s nothing to tell. The song was over; Fred’s apology was complete.”

Ginny raised her eyebrow. Was Hermione really going to go through this song and dance again? “You’ll have to do better than that.” She got up, moving to sit beside the older witch. “I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. What happened?”

Hermione’s voice cracked. “I panicked. Who wouldn’t? No one likes being rejected or having to reject someone. I made it easier on both of us.”

Ginny was incredulous. “What are you talking about?”

Hermione forced a chuckle, vainly trying to mask her quickly reforming tears. “Fred Weasley liking me? Right, and the Minister for Magic is a Muggle.”

Ginny’s quickly waning supply of patience had officially run dry. She didn’t think that Ron’s ill-timed comment about déjà vu would be this painfully accurate. The ginger stood, towering over her best friend. “This is ridiculous! Open your eyes! Merlin, how can you be so stupid?”

Hermione rose to her feet, meeting Ginny’s eyes with a challenging gaze. “I beg your pardon?”

Ginny’s eyes blazed. “I get it. You’ve been hurt enough for a lifetime, and want to avoid any more pain. Fred’s a notorious jokester; I understand your caution, but you’re ignoring the blatantly obvious. He kissed you, Hermione! How much more proof do you need? What could possibly - ”

Hermione’s tears spilled over. “I’m scared, dammit,” she cried, cutting off Ginny’s words.

The redhead’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? What do you…he’s not Ron, Hermione. He’d never intentionally hurt you.”

Hermione vainly wiped at her swiftly falling tears. “It’s not that. I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid for him. For us.”

Ginny’s confusion showed on her face. “You’ve lost me, Hermione.”

She swallowed hard. “I’ve seen so much death and destruction in my life. I’ve lost so many loved ones. I…we nearly lost Fred.”

The ginger smiled knowingly. “Nearly. That’s the key word. We would have, but you saved him.”

The brunette waved her hand dismissively. “A stroke of luck. Nothing more.”

Ginny took Hermione’s face between her hands. “No. Listen to me. You’ve been saving lives since you were eleven years old. Harry and Ron would’ve never survived through to seventh year, let alone graduate, had it not been for you. Even whilst petrified, you helped them, and it saved my life.”

Hermione couldn’t restrain the floodgates. “But I couldn’t save everyone.”

Ginny smiled sadly. “Hermione, if given the chance, I’ve no doubt that you would have stopped every death this bloody war caused, starting with James and Lily Potter, but what good would that do? Everything that happens in our lives is meant to teach us something. This war taught us that love is stronger than all our magic combined.”

Despite her tears, Hermione choked out a laugh. “That was incredibly cliché, Gin.”

The ginger grinned. “Doesn’t make it any less true. For Circe’s sake, Narcissa Malfoy’s love for her son saved Harry’s life.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot skyward. “It did?”

Ginny nodded. “She told a bold-faced lie to Old Moldy-Shorts. She told him Harry was dead in exchange for information about Draco.”

Hermione’s analytical mind began working almost immediately. “That’s incredible! Narcissa Malfoy must be on of the most powerful Occulmens in all of the Wizarding World.’

Ginny giggled, glad to see even a glimmer of her friend’s usual self. “You’re so daft.” Reach out she grasped Hermione’s hand. “Look. You have the chance to be happy with Fred. Don’t let fear stop you. Give him a chance. That’s all I ask.”

Hermione reached forward, pulling the younger witch into her arms. “Thank you, Ginny.” She breathed deeply. “Well, I suppose third time’s a charm.”

The redhead grabbed her friend’s elbow before she could even think of moving. “Be that as it may, maybe you should wait until tomorrow. Fred, he…he needs some time. Just let him sleep on it, alright?”

Hermione nodded morosely, worrying now that she’d ruined any chances she might’ve had. _Merlin, don’t let him hate me in the morning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, let me know by leaving a kudos, or commenting! Thank you very much to all have done so already! Your support and feedback means the world to me! <3


	9. Baby, Make it Hurt So Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the disaster that was the last chapter, how will Fred and Hermione react? Will it end in disaster? Are Hermione's fears true? Or will these two lovebirds finally get the happily ever after they deserve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I owe all of you an apology. I've neglected this story for an inexcusable amount of time, and I beg your forgiveness. The only excuse I can offer up is that I've lacked inspiration. However, I am back, and this story has a new life.   
> Hopefully, you can all find it in your hearts to forgive me, and read this next chapter. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything created by or owned by J.K. Rowling. I only own this plot and am making no profit from it. 
> 
> Trigger Warning: Incredibly brief mentions of blood, pain, and torture.

Ginny smiled kindly. “He could never hate you, Hermione. You must know that now.”

She blushed, knowing exactly to what her friend was referring. “I wasn’t aware I’d spoken aloud.”

Ginny snickered, leaning forward to wrap the brunette in her arms. “Oh, Hermione.”

The older witch burrowed into her friend’s embrace, glad for the love and sisterhood of the other girl. Hermione pulled away, intending to ask Ginny what her plans were; any inquiry she had died on her lips as the air was sliced by a gut-wrenching scream.

His name unbidden, like a reflex, fell from Hermione’s lips.

“Fred.”

* * *

 As Fred walked up the stairs, his movements were entirely mechanical; none of his conscious thought was dedicated to walking up the stairs. Thus far, he’d managed to contain any outward reaction to his now surging emotions; it was an impressive feat for someone who generally was very action based in his behavior.

Once it was closed, Fred slumped against his bedroom door, head hung, arms deadweight, and his legs akimbo. He finally let out a sigh, tears and a whimper rolling out with it. He tipped his head back, as if that might stymie the sobs creeping up his throat. As he did, he caught sight of himself in the mirror, and sneered bitterly at his reflection. What had once been the image of a man willing to do anything, no matter how outlandish, for the woman he loved now appeared as a boy so desperate for the attentions of a woman who didn’t love him that his attempts had become imbecilic. “Merlin, I must have looked so foolish to her!” Absently, he waved his wand, removing each piece of evidence of his folly one by one, till nothing but the piercing in his tongue was left. He hesitated, Hermione’s earlier words drifting through his mind.

_“I kind of like it. It’s pretty hot.”_

He shook his head, musing that she’d only been indulging his flight of fancy; she hadn’t meant a word of it. With a final wave of his wand, all traces of his stupidity were gone.

Well, almost all of them. Upon glancing back into the mirror, he noticed his red, kiss-swollen lips. Internally, Fred cursed himself. It would have been embarrassing enough for him to act idiotically and be rejected; instead, he had to go and snog the girl first. It was downright traumatizing.

The Fred in the mirror snickered at him, its kiss-stained mouth twisting into a bloody, terrifying leer. “ _You’re absolutely daft for thinking Hermione could ever like you of all people! She’s the most brilliant witch of her age! You’re just some pranking moron who dropped out of school to chase some pipe dream!”_

Fred clapped his hands over his ears. “Shut up!”

The mirror laughed. “ _Can’t handle the truth, Freddie? Denying it only delays the inevitable._ ”

He leapt to his feet. “Stop it. You’re lying! You know nothing!”

Another cackle issued from the mirror. “ _Always joking, Freddie! I’m a figment of your own imagination. I only know what you do. You know I speak the truth._ ”

Fred stomped towards the mirror, fire flashing in his eyes. “I said shut up!”

The sick howling of the image brought Fred’s arm back, his fist clenched, ready to strike. “ _Make me,_ ” the mirror taunted.

With a growl of rage, Fred’s arm shot forward. Just before his knuckles made contact with the glass, the image shifted, displaying a terrified Hermione.

“ _Fred, please. You promised you’d do anything for me._ ”

He tried to stop his fist, but it was too late. He couldn’t hold back the momentum; the glass, and subsequently the image of Hermione, shattered beneath his hand.

Fred was frozen for a moment, transfixed by the sight of his own blood dripping through the cracks in the glass, pooling at the bottom of the frame.

He was broken out of his reverie by a maniacal voice that had no doubt haunted Hermione’s dreams; his gaze drifted to the top half of the mirror. “ _Good work, Freddie. How ironic that you’ve cleansed yourself of your sins by spilling the filthy blood of the Granger girl._ ”

He looked to his feet, and saw that the blood had congealed into a form resembling the girl he loved.

His rage consumed him, and he began to tremble; his magic and emotions bubbled to the surface, and he summoned his wand, raising it to the shattered image of Bellatrix LeStrange. His anger was so blinding that he didn’t realize the spell he’d uttered until it bounced off of the reflective surface and hit him in the chest.

Fred collapsed. He found himself unable to control his twitching limbs, and was gaining several bruises as they made contact with the wooden floor. How Hermione had endured this for so long was unfathomable.

_Hermione._

The memory of how she’d broken his heart, coupled with the searing pain radiating throughout his body, sent him over the edge.

Fred didn’t even recognize the strangled scream as his own.

* * *

 

Hermione could only remember running so quickly once before; she dedicated a passing thought to how sickly ironic it was that now she should be running to Fred’s side yet again.

She burst through the door, skidding to a stop at the sight of a shuddering, bloody Fred beneath a shattered mirror, her momentum forcing her to her knees.

“Fred.”

The word was barely more than a whisper, garbled by the sob making its way up her throat.

His eyes wheeled around, finally locking on the brunette. With every ounce of energy, he raised his arm to her. Hermione did not hesitate to hoist the trembling man into her arms, pillowing his head on her shoulder.

Ginny arrived moments later, nearly tripping over Hermione. Her eyes grew wide at the state of her big brother. “What’s wrong with him?”

Hermione swallowed her own pain and horror, knowing that she would need to be strong for Ginny’s sake.

Between the tremors racking his body, the sheen of sweat on his brow, and the halting, painful sounding intakes of air, it had been immediately apparent to Hermione. She’d experienced this before; her mind drifted to the evening that Fred had discovered her scar. She shivered at the memory of his gentle touch.

Hermione was brought back to reality by Ginny’s hand on her shoulder. Shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts, she informed the younger witch of her hypothesis. To be sure, she pointed her wand at Fred. “ _Specialis Revelio._ ”

Ginny’s eyes grew wide, recognizing the curse her brother had inflicted upon himself. “What do we do now?”

Without batting an eyelid, Hermione flicked her wand again. “ _Finite Incantatem.”_ She knew that ending a curse so quickly could send the body into shock, but she could no longer stand to see Fred in agony.

Finally out from under under the magical onslaught of pain, Fred regained some control of his body. He managed to make eye contact with Hermione, and raise the corner of his mouth at her before he slumped in her arms, totally unconscious.

Ginny was understandably worried. “Why isn’t he awake? Hermione? Is he…”

She swallowed back a sob. “Is he dead?”

Hermione shook her head definitively. She could feel his warm breath on her neck, and his heartbeat thrummed under her palm where it rested against his chest. “No. He is comatose, though.”

The younger witch raised a brow; she was unfamiliar with this Muggle diagnosis.

“Do you remember how I told you that our bodies use the time we are sleeping to focus energy on injuries because they’re not focused on other functions?”

Ginny nodded emphatically, remembering the month that Hermione had devoted to helping Ginny learn about Muggle medicine; it was something in which Hogwarts insisted their Quidditch captains be versed, in case of Muggle-born students who might be afraid of the Wizarding methods of healing.

“A coma is an extended period of sleep the body forces itself into to allow itself to heal. Hopefully, he won’t be unconscious for more than a few days, since we got here so quickly.”

Ginny seemed to calm at Hermione’s certainty and knowledge; she knew that the older witch wouldn’t sugarcoat Fred’s situation to spare anyone worry, nor would she lie about his diagnosis. Taking a deep breath for composure, Ginny finally said, “Right then. Let’s get him onto the bed. He’ll be more comfortable there.”

Hermione smiled proudly, admiring the younger witch’s determination. “You take his legs then.”

* * *

 After settling Fred on his bed, Hermione had sent Ginny after Ron, George, and Harry, with instructions to bring back some soup and a small amount of Firewhisky. While Ginny was gone, Hermione had reluctantly left Fred’s side to fetch a cold compress and her Muggle first-aid kit.

She dragged a stool from the boys’ workbench over to Fred’s bedside, and laid the kit out on her lap. Normally, she would have used magic to heal his wounds, but this was a special case. After an onslaught of so much heavy and dark magic, she had found that the body wasted energy allowing the spells to take effect; it would be quicker to allow him to heal naturally.  

Gently, she pushed his hair back from his forehead, clearing a place for the compress. She knew the headache the Cruciatus would leave, and she hoped the ice would have a preventative effect.

Placing some peroxide on a gauze pad, she whispered, “This might sting a bit, Fred.” She knew he couldn’t hear her, but she felt badly causing him any more pain.

Once the cuts on his hand were clean, she applied a healing salve, and wrapped them in bandages.

Finished with her nursing, Hermione kissed Fred’s forehead; she knew it wouldn’t do any actual physical good, but was something her mother had always done when she was feeling unwell as a child.

She sighed, finally allowing the tears to fall from her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Fred. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.” Glancing over her shoulders to confirm that she was alone with him, she laid a tender kiss to his unresponsive lips. “Please, wake up soon, love. There’s something I need to tell you, and I want to be certain you can hear me when I say it.”

She stood, turning to leave the room. She swung the bedroom door open, only to stop short, gasping and holding a hand to her chest.

“How is he,” Ron, Harry, and George chorused in unison.

Closing the door as quickly and quietly as she could behind her, Hermione hushed them.

“He’s going to be fine, but he needs to rest. That’s the best thing for him right now.”

“Can I see him,” George begged, tears clouding his eyes.

Hermione bit her lip, unsure of what to do. She knew that Fred needed uninterrupted rest in order for his body to recuperate properly, but she also knew that George needed to see that his twin would be all right.

She felt a pang of sympathy for Fred’s doppelganger. Though it was in a different way, Hermione understood that George loved Fred just as much, if not more, as she did.

Finally, she nodded. “Just don’t disturb him. He’s in a healing coma, and it need to be uninterrupted if it’s to do him any good.”

George threw his arms around the witch. “Thanks, ‘Mione.”

She patted his mop of fiery hair affectionately. “Of course, George.” 

* * *

 

Hermione sighed, flopping into Molly Weasley’s sofa. The supports had given out long ago, and for once, Hermione was glad for it. Sinking into the cushions was like a welcome embrace. In the face of adversity, she had done what she always had; she’d relied on logic and some quick thinking to get through fairly unscathed.

It had been three days since Fred’s accident, and save a few hours where George, Harry, Ron, or Ginny insisted upon relieving her, Hermione had spent every waking hour at his side. The only reason she found herself in the living room was because Ginny had once again chased her out, insisting she couldn’t properly take care of Fred if she neglected her own needs.

Having long since fallen out of her panic-induced adrenaline rush, and with no one but herself to which to tend, Hermione found that she could use a hug and a cuppa.

With a flick of her wand, she conjured the latter, and sipped at it gratefully, closing her eyes blissfully. 

* * *

 

Opening her eyes, it took Hermione a minute to regain her bearings. Looking up, she locked eyes with a grinning Ginny.

“Um…hello.”

The ginger snorted. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Hermione rubbed her eyes. “How long was I asleep,” she asked groggily.

Ginny pretended to have to think about that answer. “Only about a day or so.”

Hermione nodded, smacking her lips tiredly. Just then, her stomach began growling loudly.

The girls laughed in unison. Ginny gestured behind her to the coffee table in front of the sofa. There she’d placed a steaming bowl of soup and a glass of milk. “I thought you might need this after sleeping for so long.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you, Ginny.” She leaned over, taking the tray onto her lap.

Ginny sat down next to her friend, clasping their hands together. “No. Thank _you_ , Hermione. Once again, you’ve saved my brother’s life.”

“It was nothing. I would’ve done the same for any of you.”

“I know that. It’s that you kept your wits about you.”

Hermione was puzzled. “What do you mean,” she asked through a mouthful of soup.

Ginny shook her head affectionately at the older witch. “Everyone in this house knows how you and Fred feel about each other. No one would’ve blamed you had you panicked and been unable to help him.”

Hermione’s cheeks flamed. “I was panicking. I was scared out of my mind.”

“And yet you set all that aside to help my brother.”

The older witch smiled. “How is he?”

Ginny smirked devilishly. “He’s been asking about you.”

Hermione nearly choked on the bite of soup in her mouth. “He…pardon me?”

“He woke up about an hour after you left yesterday. Your name was the first word out of his mouth.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “And ever since then, he won’t shut up about you.”

Hermione leapt to her feet, a brilliant smile adorning her face. “I’ll see you later, Gin.”

“Where are you going?” Ginny started after the older witch. “What are you doing?”

Already halfway up the stairs, Hermione only paused long enough to toss one sentence over her shoulder. “I’m going to tell Fred what I should have a while ago, pin him to the wall, and snog the hell out of him.”

Ginny’s proud laughter was drowned out by Hermione’s feet thundering up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought of this long overdue chapter, and feel free to yell, scream, and berate me! I deserve it!


	10. Goodness! Gracious! Great Balls of Fire!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was gut-wrenching. Will this chapter be much the same, or will happiness return to Fred and Hermione?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the worst author every. I'm a horrible person. I can't believe I let you all hanging for so long. I'm so very sorry. It was inexcusable. I hope you can accept my apology and read this chapter anyway.   
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my own silly plot.

Fred, like many others in the Wizarding World, had suffered through many horrifying nightmares in the months since the Battle of Hogwarts. He had become used to waking up screaming, drenched in sweat, his wand already drawn at an invisible foe. Nothing compared to this.

He’d lost track of the world around him; the only thing present in his mind was the pain of the curse. He’d even begun to doubt his own existence. He’d been in agony for so long that it seemed the Cruciatus would’ve found everything of him to burn, and yet the searing pain never ceased. Where the cool, oaken floor of his bedroom should have met his fingertips, a million needles rose up to pierce his flesh.

The ghastly night terrors from which Fred suffered could be escaped simply by leaving the realm of dreams and returning to the waking world. The anguish he was experiencing now was no nightmare; Fred was certain that this level of torture was beyond the realm of even his wild imagination.

Since there was no escape to be found in a return to consciousness, Fred found his body trying to turn the tables; he recognized that it was trying to shut down. It was trying to find respite in unconsciousness, perhaps, even death, and Fred could not find it in himself to care. In fact, he welcomed the notion, wanting anything to end the suffering.

That, more than anything, scared him. Never before had he wished for death. Admittedly, he had, at times, a poor self-preservation instinct, but he had never had a base desire to die.

He now understood how Frank and Alice Longbottom had been driven to insanity. He couldn’t fathom how Hermione had escaped with her mental stability intact.

 _Hermione_.

A fresh ache bubbled up in his chest, and he screamed, no longer fearing his desire to die.

 

* * *

 

The curse had ended long ago, yet the pain was as virulent as ever. Fred couldn’t stop the tremors in his limbs, nor did he want to do so. Perhaps if they shook long enough, they’d shake the deep-seated pain.

Of course, it would take much more than a seizure to release him from the pain of his broken heart.

_She doesn’t love me. All of it was a lie. I’ll never be able to face her again._

“Fred.”

The redhead in question felt a new wave of pain rush over him as his eyes locked onto the source of speech.

_Wonderful. Good job, Freddie. You just had to think of her again. Now you’re hallucinating and in more pain._

He focused his energy into reaching an arm out to the image of Hermione, as if he could swat it away.

Of course, he couldn’t just swipe Hermione away, because she wasn’t a delusion. She really was there, and she was currently bundling him into her arms.

The tremors shaking his body worsened at the contact; it was as if her very touch could induce searing flames of pain.

Then, all of a sudden, the agony stopped. The blaze that had been eating Fred from the inside out was gone. All that remained was a deep-rooted, dull ache in his muscles. Finally in full control of his body, Fred looked up into Hermione’s eyes. There he saw a look mixed with both fear and relief. He’d only seen it once before on that beautiful face, and ironically enough, she’d just saved his life that time as well. He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face at the stroke of humor, but being jovial seemed to take everything out of him; Fred slipped into blissful oblivion.

* * *

Perhaps oblivion wasn’t the right term. Of course, his eyes were shut, and he could no longer find the drive to move his body, but he was aware of his surroundings.

He felt the girls, both stronger than their svelte frames would suggest, scoop him off of the hard floor. He felt the cushiony, comforting embrace of his mattress as they laid him on it.

He felt a gentle pair of hands lay ice on his still throbbing forehead, and tend to his bruised and bloodied knuckles.

He felt soft lips press against his brow, as if they could kiss away the pain.

He felt the last of his pain in his heart melt away as the woman he loved told him she only wanted to protect him.

He felt frustration at the fact that he couldn’t pull her tight to his chest, returning her kiss.

He felt his heart soar when she promised him what could only be the words he’d been dying to hear.

* * *

It had been three days since Fred had gone comatose. Hermione, like a stone sentinel, had rarely left his side. She hadn’t eaten a full meal nor had a sound night’s rest since she had taken up her post. Her brown skin was paling, and her eyes looked as though she’d been through the wringer with the Punching Telescope. Still, her mind was fully devoted to Fred. She monitored every twitch of his finger, and counted every even breath. She made careful note of the progression of his healing knuckles.

So faithful was she that she didn’t notice Ginny’s presence until the younger witch had called her name five times.

“Hermione!”

The bushy haired girl jumped. “Ginny! You startled me! I didn’t hear you come in.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I only called you five times.”

Hermione blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m just so worried about Fred.”

The redhead surveyed her older brother where he lay on the bed. His bruises had faded, his cuts were scabbing over, and his skin was no longer translucent in appearance. “He looks like he’s doing just fine to me,” she said, gently smoothing her hand over her friend’s hair. “Why don’t you let me take over for a while?”

Hermione stiffened at this suggestion. “Ginny, please don’t take offense, but I’ve studied far more than you about medicine both magical and Muggle. If something were to happen to Fred…”

Ginny groaned, fed up with Hermione. They’d had this particular argument countless times in the past three days. “You’d be in no condition to properly help him! And you say you know so much about medicine!”

The older witch gaped, taken aback by the redhead’s sudden rage. “Excuse me?”

Ginny dragged Hermione to her feet, and steered her toward the twins’ mirror. “Look at yourself! The most I’ve seen you eat at once in the past three days is some biscuits and a cuppa, and that’s only because Harry refused to let you see Fred until you did. You haven’t slept for more than an hour at a time, and you’ve only done that a few times. You’re killing yourself, ‘Mione, and I won’t stand for it any longer!”

The brunette’s eyes stung with tears as her friend’s words bit into her. She glanced over her shoulder at her invalided love.

Ginny’s tone turned tender, as she had not intended to upset Hermione. “Please, Hermione. If not for me, do this for Fred. I know that if he were awake, he’d want the same.”

Hermione bowed her head, knowing Ginny was right, whether or not she wanted to believe it. “Alright, fine.” She paced over to Fred’s bedside, and laid a soft kiss on his forehead. Snapping up to face the other girl, she said, “You must tell me the second anything changes.”

Ginny sighed affectionately. “Of course, Hermione. Now go!” She gently pushed the tired witch through the door.

Once Hermione had left the room, Ginny exhaled heavily, and dropped into the chair at her brother’s bedside. Leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, she muttered, “For Cor’s sake Fred, wake up already.” She bit her lip, fighting the sudden presence of tears in her eyes. “We miss you.” 

* * *

 

If Fred had it in his power to clench his fist at the moment he would. He knew that Hermione hadn’t really left his side since he’d blacked out. Of course, he hadn’t realized how much time had passed, nor that she’d been neglecting her own well-being in the interest of his.

This was not going to continue. Not if he could help it.

He knew the bushy-haired witch too well. She’d put on the charade of taking care of herself for a day or so. She’d force herself to sleep for six hours, and eat three meals. Then Hermione would be right back to incapacitating herself in the interest of his health.

Well, not anymore.

Fred summoned all the strength he could muster, and a certain amount of the magic that flowed through his body, to force himself to wake up.

He struggled for a while, trying to rouse himself all at once.

Finding his breathing shuddery at the effort, he thought to himself, “ _Merlin, this is going to be harder than I thought._ ”

A worried hand brushed against his forehead. “Gin, he’s breathing funny. Why is he breathing funny? Should we do something? Should we get ‘Mione?”

“George, calm down. I’m sure he’s fine,” Fred heard his sister promise. “Leave Hermione alone. She needs the rest.” Ginny paused. “Though I’m not sure passing out cold on Mum’s sofa is the best way to do that,” she added dryly.

George’s voice went up an octave. “She passed out?” Had Fred been capable of speech at that moment, he was sure his voice would have modulated up twice as high as his twin’s, though their words would have been nearly identical.

Ginny snorted. “She sat down, conjured a cuppa, and promptly passed out. She fell forward and barely missed cracking her head on the coffee table. I had to apparate over to her to keep her from falling on the floor.”

That did it for Fred. Looking a mess, and forgetting to eat or sleep one thing; nearly splitting her skull open was another.

“Dammit, Hermione!”

* * *

“Freddie,” George said breathlessly. “You’re…”

The redhead rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m awake, you daft wanker. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

George could hardly contain himself. He launched himself at Fred, his arms taking a vice like grip around his brother’s neck. “Thank Merlin.”

Ginny was not far behind her older brother, ducking under George’s arms to cinch her own arms around Fred’s waist. “Morgana be praised.”

Though happy to see the cheer and relief on his siblings’ faces, Fred still begged them to release him. “Gin…George…I…can’t…breathe,” he bit out haltingly. This declaration was punctuated by a raspy cough.

The younger two immediately dropped their tight embraces.

Fred, as soon as he could properly breathe again, shook his head affectionately at his siblings.

“Missed me that much, did you,” he teased. “Couldn’t bear to spend another day without the wit and charm of Fred Weasley?”

Ginny scowled. “Suddenly I’m wishing you were still asleep.”

George rolled his eyes and elbowed Ginny. “Least now ‘Mione’ll stop acting like he’s got the blooming plague.”

Fred’s eyes widened; internally, he chastised himself for forgetting about her for even a second. “Where is she? Where’s Hermione?”

It was Ginny’s turn to roll her eyes and elbow George. “Yeah, and now we have to deal with this lovesick blighter.”

Fred grabbed his sister’s hand. “Please, Ginny. I’ve got to talk to her.”

The witch reached out with her free hand to pet her brother’s hair. “Patience, man. She’s just gone to sleep.”

Fred groaned. “I know that. At least let me see her.”

George and Ginny looked at each other incredulously. “What do you mean, ‘you know’?”

“Yeah mate. I don’t remember mentioning anything about Hermione sleeping since you woke up.”

Fred rolled his eyes in annoyance. “You didn’t, but I heard you talking before.”

Ginny’s brow furrowed. “You heard us talking _before_ you woke up?”

“That’s right. I’ve heard everything since it went dark. Just couldn’t move or open my eyes.”

As the gravity of the statement set in, Ginny realized something. “That means you heard everything all of us said.”

“Yep. Felt everything too.”

Ginny and George looked at each other in amazement, both of their minds wandering to the separate occasions on which they’d seen Hermione kiss their sleeping brother, and whisper sweet nothings to him when she thought no one could hear. If Fred had been able to hear everything, the he had no doubt felt those kisses and heard all the things she said.

Fred immediately understood why his siblings were so excited. “So, can I see her now, or what?”

“What part of ‘she’s just gone to sleep’ did you not understand,” Ginny snapped.

George touched his brother’s shoulder gently. “She’s gotten maybe six full hours in the past three days. Let her get at least eight hours. I doubt she’s going anywhere.”

“I just want to see her,” Fred ground out, sitting up far too quickly for either of his siblings’ liking.

George firmed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, in order to steady him. “Mate, are you sure you should be getting out of bed so soon? I mean you did just wake up.”

Fred lurched to his feet, pushing past his doppelgänger. “I’m fine. I have to go see ‘Mione. I have to tell her how I feel. I love her. I want to make this work.” Swaying, he all but fell over, save Ginny throwing her arms around him at the last second. “Whoa, Freddie. You can hardly stand as it is. If you’re aiming to tell her how you feel, at least wait until you can stay standing for your whole piece.”

Fred sighed, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

George punched Fred’s jaw in jest. “Chin up. You’ve waiting this long to tell her. A few more hours won’t kill you.”

* * *

 

After eight hours had passed, which felt like an eternity in Fred’s mind, Ginny and George finally allowed him to go and see Hermione. He sailed down the stairs as fast as his tired legs would allow him without tripping, skidding to a halt next to the sofa.

Gingerly, he sank down on a sliver of cushion unoccupied by the bushy-haired witch he loved.

He reached out to gently shake Hermione’s shoulder. “’Mione. Wake up,” he whispered. “C’mon, love. Rise and shine.”

The only response he received from the sleeping witch was a quiet snore, and some unintelligible babble. He snickered at her; even asleep, Hermione was undeniably adorable. Bending down, Fred placed a soft kiss to her lips. “You sleep, ‘Mione. Come find me when you wake up. There’s something I need to tell you, and I want to be certain you can hear me when I say it.”

* * *

 

Sixteen hours later, Fred was pacing his bedroom like a caged animal. George groaned, rolling his eyes. “Mate, I’m trying to work here. If you’re not going to help me, at least stop pacing. You’re driving me batty.”

“She’s been asleep for twenty-four hours, George. Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Considering how little she slept while caring for your sorry arse, not really.”

Fred raked his hands through his hair, growling in aggravation. “I just can’t wait any longer.” He swooped to the door, throwing it open, only to run smack into Hermione.

With her nose now an inch from his chest, it was no surprise that a flush of red painted both of their cheeks.

“Hermione!”

“Fred!”

“I’ve got something…no you go first,” they spoke simultaneously.

Both of them looked down at their feet.

George snorted, shaking his head at the flustered pair. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave.” Gathering the parchments he’d been working on, he brushed past the pair. Stopping for a moment, he turned back and grabbed a sock from his drawer, securing it around the exterior doorknob. “Just in case you forget,” he teased, winking at the two.

At George’s antics, Hermione felt her cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red, though she hadn’t thought it possible.

Fred bit his lip. He wished George hadn’t done that; he didn’t want Hermione to get the wrong impression.

Look up at the witch from under his lashes, Fred muttered, “Sorry about that, love. I don’t know what possessed him to do that.”

She smiled graciously. “No, it’s fine.”

Fred cleared his throat nervously. “So, um, it sounded like you wanted to tell me something.”

Hermione nodded, unable to form words, her throat felt so tight. Despite having bounded excitedly up the stairs, she found herself lacking any of her Gryffindor bravery.

Fred reached out to take her hand, thought whether it was to ground her or himself he wasn’t sure; even though he was pretty sure she reciprocated his feelings, he couldn’t help but worry that she would turn him down again.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me, Hermione.”

She nodded again, more confidently this time, taking comfort in his gentle touch. “Fred, about the other day. When we…you know…” She felt the crimson blush staining her cheeks spread down to her chest.

Fred was sporting his own deepening blush at the memory of that kiss, but knew she needed his support right now. “It’s all good, ‘Mione. It’s me.”

Hermione looked into his eyes, seeing genuine care and understanding there, and smiled. This _was_ Fred. The Fred she loved with all her heart. “I just wanted to talk about what happened.”

Fred gestured for her to continue. “The floor is yours milady.”

Hermione grinned at his theatrics. “Thank you.” She took a few deep breaths to center herself, but it turned out to be a vain attempt. She tipped her face towards the ceiling as if to stymie the flow of tears. “I don’t know where to begin. There’s so much I have to say, and so much I have to ask. I don’t want to leave anything out.”

Fred knew exactly how she felt. For the past day, he’d been pacing his bedroom floor, puzzling over what he would say, and the questions he needed answers to. Using his grip on her hand, he pulled her over to the workbench George had vacated moments before. “How about this. We’ll play that Muggle game. 20 Questions, is it? That way we can each bring up the topics we think are important.”

Hermione nodded. “That sounds like a great idea. Should I start?”

“If you like.”

She bit her lip, wringing her hands. “Where to start,” she mused aloud. Despite its macabre nature, she decided to begin with the question that had been weighing on her heart most heavily. “Fred, I don’t know exactly what you did in your room, and I’m not entirely sure I want or need to know the answer, but I need to know one thing.”

He inclined his head, signaling her to go ahead and ask the question.

Swallowing hard, she bit out, “Were you trying to kill yourself?” Her voice cracked at the end, sobs taking over her.

Fred wrapped her in his arms, tucking her head under his chin. “Merlin, no,” he answered, his own voice mangled by tears. “I would never do that to the people I love.”

Hermione felt her heart swell slightly at the word love. Nodding, she pulled away so she could face him again, though he kept a grasp on her hands. “Your turn.”

Fred knew exactly what he wanted to ask her. “Why did you run?”

This was one question that Hermione knew she had a definite answer to. “I remembered the last time we…the last time that we kissed,” she murmured, averting her eyes and blushing at the memory of their most recent encounter. “I couldn’t keep from thinking about all the horrors of the war, and all the people close to me that died.” She looked up into his eyes. “You almost died. I couldn’t stand the thought that I might put you in more danger.” Her chest heaved as a new wave of sobs washed over her. “It seems in running away, I did more harm than good.”

Fred disentangled their fingers so he could wipe away her tears. “Hermione. You did nothing wrong. Though I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. I know plenty of blokes who’d face Old Moldy Shorts himself for an hour of your company.” His voice quieted. “I know I would.”

Her head snapped up. “You would?”

Fred smiled earnestly. “I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” He basked in the warmth of her smile before continuing. “Is there anything else you want to ask?”

Hermione laughed. “Third time’s the charm. Dance with me?”

Fred smiled genuinely for the first time since waking up. Offering up his arm, he replied, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Pulling her to her feet, Fred flicked his wrist at the CD player she’d loaned him. Despite the fact that he’d performed wandless magic, it didn’t change the fact that magic and Muggle technology still didn’t mix. Instead of the sweet and slow ballad he’d intended to play, an upbeat pop rock song blared from the speakers.

Their eyes met for a beat, and they both burst out laughing. Fred stretched his hand out to her. She accepted and found herself spinning wilding, in some bastard child of swing dance.

As the song ended, Fred pulled away from her, tucking his hands behind his back.

“Not quite the message you intended to convey, Fred,” Hermione teased.

He smirked. “I wouldn’t say it’s entirely untrue. You’ve nearly driven me to insanity.”

She giggled. “Have I now?”

He rolled his eyes. “I pierced my tongue for you, didn’t I?”

“That was a pretty wild move, even for you,” she joked.

“Well, I’m wild for you.”

The silence that momentarily fell over the room was physically tangible.

Hermione wasn’t sure she had heard him right. She only dared to hope she had, but he’d said it so brusquely it seemed impossible that he’d just said it. “Excuse me?”

Fred, for his part, was aware that he was past the point of no return. It was now or never; he had to tell her the truth. Swallowing hard, he took her hands in his. “Hermione, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I have been for a while now, actually.” He stepped closer to her, reaching up to tangle his fingers in her hair. Taking a deep breath, he said finally, “Well, better late than never. I love you, Hermione. I’m absolutely mad for you.”

Hermione felt her breath catch and without meaning to, dropped the smile from her face as she tried to regain her bearings.

Fred loved her.

Fred was in love with her.

Frederick Gideon Weasley was in love with Hermione Jean Granger.

Noticing the slight tense set to her spine, Fred gripped her shoulders. “What is it? Say something to me, please!”

After an anxious moment, an almost maniacal grin split her face.

Fred’s brow furrowed. “Hermione?”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, and a breathy laugh escaped. Stretching her arm up, she gently caressed his face. “Fred?”

“Yes, ‘Mione?”

“I love you, too.”

He couldn’t keep the blinding smile off of his face, and immediately gathered her into his arms, holding her as if his life depended on it.

When Fred finally loosened his grip on her, Hermione asked faintly, “Can I ask one more question.” So overcome with emotion was she that she began to sway.

Fred pitched forward, catching her around the waist. “Anything, love.”

Meeting his worried gaze, she took a deep breath, and said her piece. “Kiss me again?”

She barely had the words out of her mouth before he’d drawn her into a searing kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy the chapter? Do you still hate me for leaving you hanging for so long? Let me know by leaving a comment!


	11. You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, we finally got the declaration of love we'd all been waiting for. This time, we see things from the perspective of our four resident peeping Toms, and hilarity, as always, ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. I'm baaaack! Merlin, I feel bad for letting you all hang like that. Again, I have to blame school and work, but I feel like none of you believe me when I tell you that. I promise I've been working on bringing you another chapter! Anyway I hope you like it! Let me know what you think in a comment! Many thanks to those who have commented, bookmarked, or left kudos. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I only own my plot, and am making no profit from this work.

George had barely gotten the bedroom door closed before he found himself nose to nose with his little sister. The sound of his ear-piercing shriek and his scrolls clattering to the floor surely would have garnered Fred and Hermione’s attention, had Ginny not cast a _Muffliato_ charm mere seconds before.

“Bleedin’ Christ, Gin,” he exclaimed, kneeling down to banish the parchments to the flat in Diagon Alley. “I nearly had a heart attack.”

The redheaded witch rolled her eyes. “Oh, you did not,” she chided, pulling George to his feet and away from the door, not trusting the strength of her own spell work. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of the wool sock hanging off of her brothers’ doorknob. “Morgana help us. They’re not really…” She would have never thought Hermione the type to jump into bed with someone right away, even if she had known that someone for nearly a decade; at the very least, she thought the older witch would wait to jump Fred’s bones until the prying eyes of the younger Weasley twin were out of sight.

George cackled, far too loudly for his sister’s liking. Ginny smacked her brother’s arm, hushing him.

He scowled in annoyance. “Merlin’s saggy dress robes, quit hitting me, woman,” he snapped, rubbing his arm. “And course they’re not! Well, not yet anyway,” he speculated with a wink. “Just give Freddie time.”

“Give Freddie time for what,” Ron’s voice asked as it floated up the stairs, shortly followed by Ron himself, and a so-far silent Harry.

Harry’s speechlessness lasted all of three seconds. A high-pitched squeak issued from Harry’s mouth, and he began trembling, so overwhelming were his emotions. For the first time since he was very small, Harry produced accidental magic, turning the walls in the hallway a bright lime green.

Ginny snorted at her boyfriend’s reaction, lazily flicking her wand to return the walls to their proper color. “Words, Harry. Use your words.”

“When did…how…why didn’t…” he spluttered, a million questions running through his head.

The three redheaded siblings could no longer contain their laughter. “Merlin, mate. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think _you_ had the crush on ‘Mione,” Ron chortled.

Harry raked his hands through his hair. “Of course not! She’s like my sister! It’s just…it’s Hermione!”

George rolled his eyes, finally able to get a word in edgewise of Harry’s stammers. “For all we know, Hermione is still our chaste and pure Gryffindor princess! _I_ put the bloody sock on the door! I just wanted to see their reactions!”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank Merlin.”

Ginny smacked him upside the head. “Oi. That’s my big brother you’re talking about. What’s wrong with him and ‘Mione together?”

George and Ron ruffled their sister’s hair affectionately. “We’ve told you before. It’s the same reason Ronnikins and I’ll be wearing matching scowls at your wedding,” George explained.

“It’s like, we’re proud of Harry for finding a pretty awesome life partner, but it’s still our little sister he’s fixing on shagging,” Ron concluded.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Men,” she cursed.

“Oh, like you’re not going to give ‘Mione a stern talking to about not breaking Freddie’s heart,” Harry raged.

The young witch raised a brow. “No? I mean, if she hurts my big brother, I can’t promise that I won’t Bat Bogey Hex her, but I’d do the same to Freddie if he broke her heart.”

The boys couldn’t really argue with Ginny’s logic.

“Can we at least see if we’re justified in _wanting_ to hex his bits off,” Harry pleaded.

Ginny sighed. “Fine,” she drawled in exasperation. “Just don’t disturb them!” She cast an additional _Muffliato,_ knowing that the boys were anything but quiet.

As slowly and gingerly as was possible, George cracked his bedroom door open. He stopped when it was wide enough for all four of them to peek their heads through.

A wicked grin plastered itself to George’s face, as he produced a camera from seemingly thin air.

Ginny’s eyes went wide, and she mentally threw obscenities at herself for letting the twins get wind of Hermione’s Bag Extending Charm. “George, what do you…”

“Relax, Gin. If it’s a cute moment, you can scrapbook it for their kids. If it’s naughty, well…”

Three hands smacked him upside the head at once. “Ow! Gutter brains, the lot of you. It’ll mean mum will never blame me for another prank-gone-wrong again.”

Harry, Ginny, and Ron, disgusted by the thought of what George might do with an explicit photograph, glared. “Whatever, you pervert,” Ron hissed.

George smiled seedily as he slithered to the ground, crawling into the room on his belly.

Ginny tucked herself into the doorjamb next, followed by Harry and Ron.

All four of them had vastly different reactions.

George hadn’t even processed what he was witnessing before he’d made the moment immortal on film. As soon as he’d ensured that the picture had come out clearly, he actually focused on what was going on, and he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Unlike his trademarked mischievous smirk, this smile was completely genuine. Despite being quite busy kissing Hermione, the smile was evident in Fred’s features. When he pulled away slightly to search Hermione’s face, the joy in his eyes was blatantly obvious. George had only seen such pure bliss in his brother’s face once before, when they had opened Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes’ doors for the first time.

Ginny was practically dancing. Her heart soared higher than it had during her first victory on the Quidditch pitch. She couldn’t remember the last time her best friend and favorite brother had looked so happy. Despite her previous misgivings, Ginny was glad George had thought to document the moment. She knew in her heart that the war was finally over for Fred and Hermione.

Harry’s jaw fell open, hardly recognizing the people before him. Gone was the brash and defiant Fred Weasley, who had laughed in the face of death. Gone was the strong and independent Hermione Granger, who had become a fierce and lethal warrior. Fred’s heart was no longer guarded; all the emotions he’d bottled up were poured out in his kiss, and his tenderness apparent in the gentle caress of his hands. Hermione’s spine was no longer stiff and defensive; she curved into Fred’s arms, allowing him to support her. They both were softer, almost human again. No one noticed, but the walls in the hallway were bright green again.

Ron was at peace, the corner of his mouth curving up. He had learned long ago that for as much as he and Hermione loved each other, it would never be as anything more than brother and sister. He was glad she’d finally found someone to love and cherish her, especially someone as easy to keep an eye on as his own brother.

George couldn’t contain his excitement, and apparently neither could Ginny’s double _Muffliato_. The shrill wolf whistle and round of applause he let out broke through the charm, reaching the lovebirds’ ears.

Fred and Hermione smiled into each other’s mouths, and told George exactly what they thought of his interruption via a choice hand gesture.

The four rubber-neckers laughed, taking that as their cue to vacate the premises.

* * *

 

George shut the door behind them, ushering his fellow eavesdroppers down the stairs. The four of them bellowed in another peal of laughter as they heard the unmistakable click of the door being locked magically.

George elbowed Ginny as the four of them headed toward the staircase. “Told you Freddie wouldn’t take long. Guess it’s a good thing that I put that sock on the door.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You’re such a degenerate.”

He grinned wickedly, sliding down the banister, landing neatly on his feet. “I prefer the term delinquent.”

Ron nudged Harry, as they ambled into the kitchen, looking for something to eat. “I prefer the term dickhead.”

“Oh bugger off,” George called, following them.

Harry teasingly lobbed an apple at the older wizard’s head. “We’re just taking the Mickey. Calm your tits.”

George smirked, whipping his wand out and sending a _Tittilando_ at Harry. Thus began a fight between all four of the mages in the room, sending harmless trick hexes at each other.

The merriment was cut short by the unmistakable pop of apparition. Darting to the nearest window, George blubbered in surprise. “Mum and Dad aren’t supposed to be back yet are they?”

Ginny’s eyes widened as she mentally made tally of the days that had passed since her parents had left. “Merlin’s saggy drawers! With Fred being unconscious, we stopped keeping track of the days. It’s been well over a week!”

Harry and Ron rushed to George’s sides, not believing that they too had missed the passing of days.

Momentarily forgetting the two lovebirds upstairs, they ran to greet Arthur and Molly at the door.

* * *

 

“Mum,” Ginny sang, sailing into her mother’s arms. After the week they’d just had, with its emotional ups and downs, she was incredibly glad to see her.

Molly grinned, tightly bundling her daughter into her chest. “Hello, Ginny dear! Oh I’ve missed you so much, love! Hello Ron! Harry! George,” she exclaimed, as the three boys vied for places in her arms. So enthusiastic were they that they nearly bowled her over into Arthur.

The man, laughing heartily, joyfully came bounding around Molly’s other side, sandwiching the kids between himself and his wife. As they let go, Molly looked around in confusion. “Where are Hermione and Fred?”

Ginny’s face blanched, staring at her brothers and Harry, who wore matching expressions of horror and fear. There were two things Molly Weasley absolutely did not permit in her house: dirty dishes and locked doors. Dirty dishes implied chaos, and locked doors implied catastrophe.

How were they going to explain to Molly that Fred and Hermione, who had been skirting around each other prior to her leaving, were currently behind a locked door doing who knows what.

Molly’s fiery eyes darted between the four teens. “I believe I asked a question.” Her eyes focused in on Ron, knowing that her youngest son had the least strength against her glare.

Ginny shook her head furiously at Ron, begging him with her eyes to not rat Fred and Hermione out. George raked his hands through his hair, knowing that Ron was a lost cause, and they were all dead meat. Harry had sunk to the ground, completely catatonic.

Ron felt the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. He knew that if he told the truth, his siblings would never speak to him again, and if he refused to speak, or told a lie, his mother would actually kill him.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley,” Molly snarled from behind gritted teeth, “Tell me the truth. Where are Fred and Hermione? What are they doing?”

The last time Molly Weasley had such fire in her eyes was when she put an end to Bellatrix LeStrange; Ron was strong, but not quite that strong.

Ron’s speech faltered, and he clumsily began, “Fred and ‘Mione are…”

“We’re right here,” Hermione cut in, Fred a few paces behind her; the distance between them seemed colossal after what they’d been seen doing in Fred’s room not minutes ago. The bushy haired witch drew her adoptive mother into a tight embrace. “I’m glad to see you’re both back safely.”

Molly’s rage ebbed, and her posture relaxed, though one brow remained arched, as though she was aware that all was not as it appeared. She glanced over to her husband knowingly, and he nodded in silent agreement. Before her silence neared the brink of ungainliness, she clapped her hands together. “Well, then! We mustn’t lurk in doorways!” She waved her hand to shoo off her brood, but called out to the two latecomers. “Fred, help your father with the luggage. Hermione, dear, would you help me in the kitchen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that! I know it was long coming, and it really was a bit of a filler chapter, so I apologize if that bored you.  
> If you're interested, I made my own art for this and the previous chapter. If you'd like to check it out, go to: http://thewriterinallofus.tumblr.com/post/158239642424/finally-pencil-sketch-and-digital-color-i-made  
> Thank you so much for reading, loves!


	12. *IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE*

*IMPORTANT*

If you read Chapter 11 prior to 8 pm, May 24, EST, then be aware a minor change has occurred!

Many of you seemed dissatisfied with the original ending, and I realized that I had written myself into a corner.

Therefore, I have elected to make a very minor change to the original ending. 

It will have a drastic impact on the outcome of the following chapters, so please make sure you read the revised conclusion

I apologize for the inconvenience and for uploading anything less than my best. 

THANK YOU! 


	13. Witchy Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will Fred and Hermione deal with the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am so sorry for taking so long on this chapter, and having to change the ending of last chapter. I've been stuck in a writer's brick wall, and have no energy to write anymore. I hope this fairly long chapter makes up for it, and that it's not to terrible a chapter. At this point I'm so sick of revising, I can't bear to look at it anymore. 
> 
> With any luck though, the next (and final) chapter will be up in two weeks time, since I'm on vacation next week. Again, I'm so sorry for being horrible with updating. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I certainly am not making money.

Fred and Hermione could no longer contain their laughter, and split apart. The redheaded wizard glared at the space his twin had just been occupying. “Nosy little skrewts.”

Hermione smirked, and eyed the door intently; after a second, it locked under her gaze

Fred raised his brow, realizing the brilliant witch in front of him had locked the door sans wand or word or wave. She’d literally used her magic to will the door locked. He found her feat of dazzling magic both attractive and novel and was pulled between the desire to kiss her and to question her. His curiosity overwhelmed him, and he finally managed to blurt out, “You bloody locked it with your mind!”

“Yes,” she answered patiently, wishing he would kiss her, but knowing that his curiosity was too strong.

Sputtering as he tried to gather his thoughts, he managed, “Isn’t that a bit illegal?”

Hermione grinned, amused at the notion of Fred Weasley being concerned with the legality of something. “Wandless magic is illegal in Muggle areas, because you still must perform an incantation, and could risk outing the community. Wandless, non-verbal magic is frowned upon because of the typical use of some form of movement. Cerebriency is another matter entirely. Practitioners are mostly unrestricted, and some are even famous in the Muggle World.”

“They are?” The most contact Fred had had with Muggles was his interactions with Hermione’s parents, and he’d been strictly forbidden from performing any sort of magic in front of them. Slytherin’s silk skivvies, Harry had gotten into legal trouble for saving Dudley from a lethal Dementor attack.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “They work as ‘magicians.’”

Fred wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t that the word for Muggles and Squibs who stack a deck of cards and pretend they’re actual practitioners?”

“In common parlance, yes,” Hermione conceded, “and that’s what they pretend to be. Instead, these wizards and witches use magic to recreate those parlor tricks, as well as to create far more complicated and dangerous stunts. My research shows that their magic tends to be more tightly knit with their emotions.”

“How aren’t they caught doing accidental magic,” he asked incredulously. “I mean, I turned Ron’s teddy bear into a spider at five, simply because I was angry. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t go unnoticed.”

“The performance aspect acts as a release. Many of them wander the streets, asking random passerby if they’d like to see some magic when they are feeling particularly emotional. It allows them to channel their feelings in a constructive, and fairly non-suspect manner.”

“And the Muggles never think something’s a bit hinky?”

Hermione grinned deviously. “Some do, but not in any number vast enough to sway the public opinion. You see, in order for the tricks to go forward, the wizard or witch must first devise a manner in which a Muggle could safely replicate the trick, and present the method to a board of certified Aurors. As far as the audience, they’re either rapt by what they assume are illusions, or manage to guess the non-magical method. Also…” She trailed off, a red stain creeping up her neck. She’d just told Fred she loved him, and not five minutes later she was rambling on about a dry topic. “I’m sorry. I’m going on about…”

Fred’s words stumbled over top of hers. “It’s alright! I was rather enjoying it!”

She blundered through an apology, not fully comprehending his words at first. “You what? Really?” Even Ginny, who was compassionate to a fault, had been caught rolling her eyes at Hermione’s ramblings on a droll topic.

Fred nodded emphatically. “I mean, blimey, Hermione, I don’t love you simply ‘cause you’re a knockout, and you are that,” he admitted, his eyes raking over her. “You’re the smartest person I know, and the only person who doesn’t think that ‘I don’t know’ is an acceptable answer.”

Her face was nearly violet, as she was unaccustomed to receiving such kind words, especially on the subject of her intellect. “Oh, hush,” she said lamely, playfully pushing against his chest.

“What are you going to do? Sew my mouth shut?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He sneered. “You wouldn’t.”

As soon as the words left his lips it seemed to Fred like tiny needles were stitching them together. Reaching up to inspect what she’d done, he found that she hadn’t merely sewn his mouth closed; she’d made it disappear entirely. He immediately panicked, and began tearing around the room like a madman, his muffled screams making Hermione giggle delightedly. *

He finally skidded to a halt in front of her, and dropped to his knees. Unable to verbally beg her to undo the spell, he clasped his hands as if he were praying and widened his eyes. She laughed, and drew a finger across his face, his lips reforming in its wake. “Do you like the sound of your own voice that much,” she teased, a fiery glint in her eyes.

He snapped to his feet, and drew her as close as possible. “No,” he breathed, his nose brushing hers, “I was just afraid I’d never get to do this again.” With that he pressed his newly reformed lips against hers.

The tip of his tongue raced the seam of her mouth, asking her to deepen the kiss. She accepted, letting him taste her tongue with his. With a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, she thought of the piercing that had been there days earlier. Hermione vaguely remembered picking through one of Ginny’s trashy monthlies as she waited for the girl to finish wrangling her long, ruby mane. According to the _Wandapolitan Verified Fashion and Sexpert™,_ tongue rings were not only aesthetically pleasing, but served other titillating functions as well. She didn’t know when Fred had removed it, but she rather wished he hadn’t. She blushed to admit, even to herself, that she was quite curious about the other functions that jewelry might serve. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, than the piercing reappeared.

The slight sensation of pain startled Fred, and he pulled away abruptly. He reached up to feel his tongue, grinning wolfishly when he realized what Hermione had done. “Well, damn. That’s proper kinky, Granger.”

A wicked glint flashed through her eyes. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg, Weasley.”

Fred jaw dropped, dropping on the edge of the workbench. Not knowing what else to say, he asked, “Where’d you learn to do that kind of magic, anyway?”

Hermione sheepishly dug her toe into the carpet. “Do you remember the vacation I spent skiing with my parents?”

He nodded hesitantly. Of course he remembered; there wasn’t a bloody detail about Hermione he couldn’t recollect, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“They had been offered a position in an American practice, and briefly considered taking it. If we had moved, I would have transferred to Ilvermorny. Because of the Salem Witch Trials, American wizards and witches have a deep-seated fear of No-Maj…”

“No Maj?”

Hermione realized that Fred was unlikely to be aware of the American nomenclature. “It’s what Americans call Muggles.”

“Ah.” He gestured for her to continue.

“Anyway, Cerebriency is practiced almost exclusively. I got a permit from the Ministry to practice on holiday, and that was that.”

Fred’s eyebrows drew together. “So, on a slim chance, you taught yourself to perform magic with your mind?”

“Yes?”

Fred smiled at her in awe, and leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. “No wonder you were a Hatstall. The bloody Hat tried to stick you in all four houses didn’t it?”

Hermione nodded sheepishly. “It’s a bit embarrassing. I had to sit there for over five minutes while the dratted thing made up its mind.”

“Had it found a way, you’d have been Empress of all four.” He leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers. “Though I’m rather glad Gryffindor claimed you for its princess.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the cheesy line and royal epithet. “Does that make you the court jester,” she badgered, knowing he would have worn the dunce cap like his name was written on it in a Muggle school.

Fred stepped back, dropping to his knees and spreading his arms dramatically. “Tis true, fair maiden, that I am naught but a humble harlequin. I am not worthy of your love or attentions. I bid you, place them with another. Someone of higher standing and worth.” His tone faltered as he realized the truth of his statement. What was Hermione doing with him? He bowed his head to keep up the charade, and to hide the tears that came from knowing she deserved so much better than him.

Hermione immediately sensed the shift in his mood, and knelt down, tipping his chin up. “Fred, you’re selling yourself short.”

“Am I,” he asked, dropping out of the pretend. “I’m a dropout running a joke shop. You’re the most brilliant witch of the age.” He shrugged in defeat. “How am I supposed to compete with that? You warrant someone so much better than I.”

“Now you listen to me, Frederick Gideon Weasley,” Hermione growled. “You left an environment no longer conducive to learning that was run by a cruel, sociopathic dictator. That alone was braver than most of us. In doing so, you opened up the most successful store in the entire history of Diagon Alley, selling prank products that involve far more complex magic than I could ever hope to achieve. During the war, you ran an illegal news radio program that gave people hope, which was more valuable to the defeat of Voldemort than anything Harry, Ron, or I did. You also found every way to involve yourself in a group of wanted fugitives to fight against a dark wizard who would have murdered you on sight. If we’re competing, you’ve frankly got me beat.” She softened her tone, cupping his face between her hands. “More importantly, you’ve grown into a sweet and generous man, with a heart of gold. I couldn’t care less if you finished school or not. I love you for who you are, not what you are.”

Even more tears made their way down Fred’s face, though he quickly swiped them away. Pulling her close, he peppered kisses on her face more numerous than all the freckles of all the Weasley’s combined.

Hermione squirmed in his grasp, the kisses tickling her cheeks.

Realizing her weakness, Fred’s trademark wicked grin crept upon his face, and he launched his hands at her sides.

She shrieked, wriggling out of his arms and dashing across the room. Fred clambered to his feet, chasing after her. “You’re not getting away that easily, Granger,” he rumbled, as he drew closer, almost backing her into the workbench.

“Try and catch me then, Weasley,” she taunted, ducking under his arm and darting away again.

Having spent most of his years at Hogwarts as a Beater on the Quidditch team, Fred had no trouble keeping up with Hermione, but she was willowy and light on her feet, and every time that Fred managed to corner her, she skipped away from his reach and sprinted to the other side of the room.

Just as Fred was certain he had her pinned in a corner, she tucked and rolled right between the redhead’s legs, vaulting over the twins’ worktables. Fred wasn’t exactly expecting that kind of gymnastic agility, and he froze momentarily, his eyes going wide as her body soared through the air with a surprising amount of nimbleness. She landed with a quiet thud, which snapped Fred back to attention, and he mirrored her stance from his position on the opposite side of the table.

As Hermione made to sprint to the left, Fred followed her, forcing her back in the other direction. Glaring at him playfully, she feinted back and forth, trying to throw him off.

After several failed attempts at escape, Hermione gripped the corners of the table, leaning forward to throw a smirk at Fred. “It would seem,” she gritted out between heaving breaths, “that we’ve come to an impasse.”

“Impasse my arse,” Fred growled. His emotions rippled, and the waves crashed like a tsunami into his pool of magic. Without really thinking about it, he found himself on the other side of the table, his arms caging in Hermione, and everything that had once been on the workbench scattered on the floor. From the look in Hermione’s eyes, he’d somehow managed to accidentally perform a basic act of Cerebriency. Smirking at her loss for words, he chuckled, “I told you that you weren’t getting away that easily.”

Hermione nostrils flared, and she laid the flat of her palm against his sternum, shoving him back till his spine knocked against the wall. She stood on her toes, dancing her lips over his collarbone and throat in a grapevine toward his ear. “What makes you think I wanted to get away,” she murmured indecently, before pressing her lips to his again.

That was simply too much for Fred. Up until this point, he’d been making a conscious effort to restrain himself around Hermione; the fact that their feelings for each other were long-held did not change that they had only recently admitted them. Throwing caution to the wind, he broke the kiss, reaching down to grip her thighs tightly, and pulled her up into his arms. Instinctually, she wrapped her legs languidly around his hips, her hands finding anchors around his neck and buried in his hair. Fred turned them around, using the wall to help him support Hermione, before marauding her mouth once more.

Hermione, for her part, had never kissed so ardently.

The kiss she’d received from Viktor Krum was dry and passionless; her focus was on all the wrong things, from worrying if her breath smelled, or if all boys’ lips felt so chapped.

She also had once kissed Neville, just after the start of the war. After learning that he’d never had his first kiss, and he had a fear of dying without ever receiving it, she’d simply leaned in and kissed him. He had been upset that she’d done it out of pity, but she reassured him by saying that even if this was to be the only kiss he’d ever get, it had come from someone who loved him.

This kiss from Fred was entirely different. Her whole body felt aflame, and she couldn’t get enough of him. It was like a shock of static electricity every time they touched, and Hermione was quickly becoming addicted to the sensation.

Wanting more, she untangled her fingers from his fiery locks, and began tugging on the hem of his t-shirt. Fred smirked into her mouth, and stepped closer, locking her between his hips and the wall, so he could pull the shirt off in one fluid motion. The second it hit the floor, Fred swore, backing away from her like he’d been burned.

“Goblin crotch,” he muttered, hastily putting the garment back on, and smoothing his hair down, moving to stare out of the window.

Hermione immediately bit her lip, holding back tears. Where had she gone wrong? Had she moved too far too fast? “I – I’m sorry, Fred. I didn’t mean to…”

He rolled his eyes. “I can hear you overthinking, love. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then…”

He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her over to the casement. “Look!”

Hermione smiled briefly to see that Molly and Arthur had arrived home safely, before the consequences of that arrival caught up to her. “Oh, leprechaun’s taint!” 

* * *

 

Fred and Hermione had only just made it to the front yard in time to stave off a horrifically angry Molly, but they feared that they might have made the situation worse. Neither of them missed the furtive look that passed between the parents, and the pale expressions the four teenagers wore.

Five minutes later, Hermione hesitantly followed Molly into the kitchen. The older woman was notoriously controlling in that particular room. She rarely, if ever, asked for help in preparing an everyday meal. The only time that Hermione ever recalled helping the matron was on busy holidays, such as Christmas.

“Sit,” Molly commanded, gesturing towards her table.

Hermione did as she was told, nervously twiddling her thumbs. She couldn’t keep her cheeks from flushing, as her mind immediately jumped to Fred’s little show on this very table. Merlin, he’d looked so…

She snapped back to attention at the sound of Molly dropping a dish of potatoes and a peeler in front of her.

“Peel.”

Robotically, Hermione executed the task, somehow knowing that Molly was fully aware of her movements, despite having turned her back.

“So, Hermione,” Molly began, startling the younger witch to the point that she nearly cut her finger on the peeler.

“Yes, Molly,” she answered, almost overcompensating in her efforts to keep her tone level.

“How was the week? Eventful at all?”

Hermione bit her lip. Eventful didn’t cover it in the slightest. “I suppose eventful is one word. What else could you expect of six young mages?”

Certainly not a mess of lost tempers, hurt feelings, kisses, and curses conceived from a rock-and-roll and leather based plan. How was she going to tell Molly all of that?

Molly cleared her throat; she knew Hermione was hiding something, and that it pertained to her eldest twin son. She was not the kind to beat about the bush with a direct question.

“Well,” Molly prodded, growing impatient with the younger girl. “I know you’re hiding something.”

Hermione swallowed hard. Choosing her words carefully, she answered, “It was fairly normal, at least for us, except that Fred…well, he…” She took a grounding breath and chose to answer clearly and concisely. “He got hit with a Cruciatus and was unconscious for three days.”

The air was punctured by the shattering of a mixing bowl and Molly screeching, “What? You were attacked?”

Hermione suddenly found her voice again. “No! It was an accident! He and I had a misunderstanding.” Finding Molly’s wand biting into her jaw, she amended, “And I certainly didn’t cast it! I promise. I don’t actually know how it happened, I just know that he cast one and it bounced off of the mirror!”

Molly lowered her wand, her rage lowering only slightly. “Why didn’t you contact me immediately,” she barked.

Hermione winced and her head fell into her hands, sobs wracking her small body. “I’m sorry! I know I should have, but I was so worried about him that I didn’t think of it! I got so focused on caring for him…” She paused to cough away the tears tightening her throat. “I can’t bear to lose him.”

Molly’s eyebrows quirked, knowing she was close to breaking the younger witch, but surprised as to the direction this conversation had headed. “Really? It was my understanding that you two didn’t exactly get along.”

Hermione ducked her head, remembering that her ultimate threat to the twins had been to contact their mother. “Not during our days at school, we didn’t.”

“And now?”

Hermione blushed. “We’ve come to an…understanding.” She absent-mindedly rubbed a thumb across her lips.

The movement caught Molly’s eye, and she saw that Hermione’s subtle lipstick had been smeared. Fitting it together with her messy hair and unsettled appearance, Molly had her suspicions confirmed. She chuckled darkly. “Is that what you kids are calling it nowadays?”

“Calling what, exactly?”

The older witch turned her back, lest her face belie the fact that she wasn’t truly upset. “I know you were up there having a snog with my son,” she answered nonchalantly, surreptitiously glancing back over her shoulder.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open in shock. She quickly attempted to recover her composure, but it was too late; Molly knew that she’d hit the nail on the head. She smiled compassionately. “I’m not angry with you for that, dear. Though in the future, I’d appreciate you being more candid with me.”

Hermione nodded sheepishly, snickering under Molly’s affectionate gaze. “How did you know?”

Molly grinned knowingly. “ I may have been born in the dark, but it wasn’t yesterday. You and Fred have always been fond of each other. I’m just surprised it took you this long.”

Hermione laughed, ducking her head in embarrassment. “Was it that obvious?”

Molly looped an arm over Hermione’s shoulders. “I had an inkling, but I usually wrote it off as the same kind of awkward affection between Ron and Fleur. What sealed it in my mind was you coming downstairs with your hair in complete disarray and your lipstick smeared.”

Hermione hurriedly smoothed her mane down, and brushed her thumb around the perimeter of her mouth. “Molly, it’s not what you think.”

The matron laughed heartily. “I told you, Hermione, that I’m not angry. You’re both adults, and I trust you to make mostly sound judgments.” Her eyes narrowed and her tone darkened again. “But if you ever hurt my son, make no mistake, you will rue the very day you were born.”

Hermione swallowed hard, knowing there was no jest in Molly’s words. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

Molly immediately shifted back to her bubbly, cheerful self, magically setting the potatoes to peel themselves. “Good. Now, run along and find Fred.”

* * *

 

Fred followed his father outside, feeling a little worried. Normally, his father would simply magically banish the luggage to its intended rooms and be done with it. It was rare that he ever asked for help bringing bags in. Clearing his throat, Fred asked, “So, how was Kenya?”

“Quite lovely, Fred. Thank you for funding it.”

He nodded once, mumbling, “You’re welcome, Dad. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

The two men worked to banish the bags back to the older man’s bedroom.

“Thanks for your help, Fred.”

“Of course,” he replied, making a beeline to find Hermione.

“Oh, and Fred,” Arthur called nonchalantly.

The younger wizard stopped in his tracks. “Yes, dad?”

“A little petroleum jelly and mineral spirits will take care of the lipstick on your collar. I’d say to simply _Scourgify_ it, but you know your mum ends all incantations on laundry. You’ll want to get that before she notices.”

Fred blanched, his eyes dropping to the aforementioned stain. “Dad, I can explain…”

Arthur held his hand up, silencing his son. “No need. I was your age once. Just promise me that you’ll be good to her and act responsibly and gentlemanly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Arthur clapped Fred on the back. “There’s a good lad. Now run along. No doubt Hermione is getting an earful from your mother.”

Fred missed the mischievous wink of his father, having run off at the speed of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *https://youtu.be/d89eTTDLyFI?t=3m46s (this is what I imagined when Fred runs around mouthless)
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you think in a comment! Thank you to all who have left comments, kudos, or have bookmarked this work. Thank you for reading and putting up with my lack of punctuality.


	14. Dirty Laundry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and Hermione deal with a bit of dirty laundry, both literally and figuratively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm a little late, and this chapter is a little short, but it's all I can manage right now. Working full time is putting a bit of a cramp in my writing style, but I'm trying my best. Hopefully you all enjoy this short and slightly steamy chapter. Consider it my gift to you for my own birthday.

As soon as Fred was sure that his father couldn’t see him, he took off at a sprint. Apparently, Hermione had done the same thing regarding Molly, because she was travelling at Mach Five when she barreled into Fred. She lost her balance, bouncing off of his solid chest.

“Steady there, ‘Mione,” he chuckled, catching her about the shoulders.

She smiled up at him. “Fred,” she sang, throwing her arms about his neck.

“Did you miss me, love,” he asked into her mane, gently rubbing her spine.

She took a step back, blushing as she dug her toe into the carpet. “A bit. Your mum went sixes and sevens on me, and I think I would have rather liked you by my side for that.”

He looked appropriately abashed. “Sorry, pet. Dad…well, I didn’t get grilled, but I did get told to clean my shirt sans magic.”

At that Hermione laughed aloud, knowing about Molly’s habit of casting a _Finite Incantatem_ on all the laundry. “Whatever for? I know about Molly’s rule, and it’s not like your mum is unaware that we’ve been snogging.” She tugged at one of her coiled tresses that had given her away. “She actually caught onto it quite quickly.”

Fred felt his face turn incarnadine. “So glad my mum knows about that.” He gently took her hand. “Look, the reason dad’s warning us is ‘cause the last time Mum found lipstick on someone’s collar, it was him.”

Hermione’s eyes flew open in secondhand pain and horror. “Arthur? But he and your mum…”

“Oh, Merlin, no,” Fred exclaimed, realizing where her mind had gone. “He’s as faithful as a familiar.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Then how…”

Fred smirked. “The old bird never wears makeup. So the one time they went to a Ministry party and she put on a dash of lipstick, it somehow makes it onto Dad’s collar. She forgot about it until she did the laundry.”

“And she thought…” Hermione murmured, beginning to piece the puzzle together.

Fred nodded. “Yup. Even after a round of Veritaserum, she refused to talk to him for six months.” He crossed his eyes in leftover frustration. “That was a hell of a time for the Weasley’s.” Looking down at her, he finished, “Ever since, Mum takes away all spells on clothing in case someone’s hiding something.”

Hermione shook her head affectionately. “Your mum is something else.”

“I know.”

Hermione held out her hand. “In that case, you might as well give me your shirt.”

Fred’s eyebrows arched. “Excuse me?”

She curled her fingers in a beckoning motion. “Your shirt. I can get the lipstick off.” To prove her point, she conjured up a jar of petroleum jelly and a bottle of mineral spirits.

Fred’s face lit up. “That’s the stuff Dad said to use!”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, then? What are you waiting for?”

“Right,” Fred conceded, pulling the shirt over his head, and following her into the small room Molly usually reserved for laundry. Gently, Hermione dabbed the petroleum jelly on the spot, and rinsed it with the mineral spirits. Flicking her wand, she set it to scrubbing. Turning back to face Fred, Hermione immediately felt her face run red again, and she stared at her feet, trying to get herself under control. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to Hermione that washing Fred’s shirt would leave him devoid of said shirt.

Fred pushed off from his perch in the doorway, sauntering over to her. He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eye. “See something you like, doll,” he purred, his tongue touching his teeth.

Hermione raked her eyes over Fred’s body; she’d be lying if she said she didn’t. Fred’s torso was still incredibly toned from his many years of playing on the Quidditch pitch. His broad, muscled shoulders were covered in a light dusting of freckles, and the small spots carried on down his forearms and over his chest. She traced a finger over the thin trail of gingery hair sloping down from his navel. She followed it to where it disappeared from view underneath his trousers. Grabbing his hips, she tugged until his body was flush with hers. “I’d be blind if I didn’t,” she murmured saucily.

Fred grinned, bending down to slant his mouth against Hermione’s. It wasn’t long before he’d insisted on removing her shirt as well, and she’d happily obliged. The two had both groaned in satisfaction over the sensation of skin on skin, and Hermione found herself seated on a table, one long leg draped over Fred’s shoulder. His blinding kiss was both fervent and reverent, and Hermione melted into his touch. His hands were not shy about exploring her slight frame; in particular, his fingers continually returned to dance about her breasts.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione reached behind her to remove her bra, tossing it behind Fred head. His face lit up in a smile reminiscent of the cat that got the cream, and he was just about to press an open mouthed kiss to one of her breasts, when a voice shattered the moment.

“Oi! What’s all this then?”

Hermione squeaked in fright, and Fred spun around, his stance defensive. The two lovebirds were dismayed to see Hermione’s bra be pulled from around a face to reveal George’s annoyingly smug mug.

“I swear to Circe,” Fred cursed. “If you interrupt us one more time…”

“You’ll do what,” George sniped, wishing he’d kept his camera on his person. “Tell mum I cockblocked you?”

Fred snarled hopelessly, unable to say anything else in his own defense.

“No,” Hermione argued, taking the twins by surprise. “But I could tell your mum that you and Angelina had a pregnancy scare last year.”

George’s face blanched, both at the threat, and at the fact that Hermione was standing bare breasted in front of him. “You…how do you…” he stammered, trying to look anywhere but her exposed bosom.

She snorted. “Please. I work at the Ministry. There are very few things I don’t know.”

Stuttering, George managed to squeak out an apology before telling them that dinner was ready.

Fred stared incredulously at Hermione. “I didn’t even know that! Is your job - ”

She laughed merrily. “Of course not! I’m the one who performed the test spell for Angie!”

She shook his head affectionately. “I’m almost scared to know what sort of blackmail material you have on the rest of us.”

She smirked devilishly. “Well, I do happen to know that Ron had a drunken one night stand with Millicent Bulstrode.”

Fred was about to remark on that when Molly hollered for them.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione had dried Fred’s shirt and handed it back to him. “We had better get going before your mum hexes your bits off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know; it's a bit crap. I was hoping to do more, but I wanted to post a little something! Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think, and if you have any song suggestions, or suggestions for where the story should go, please feel free to let me know! <3


	15. White Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and Hermione face the music at the kitchen table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure I was going to post this but an anonymous friend on Tumblr encouraged me to do so!

Hermione and Fred were both red-faced as they entered the kitchen, doing their level best to appear completely innocent and innocuous, especially to the parental units in the room.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Molly teasingly admonished, trying her best to keep up her matriarchal machinations, despite the utter joy in her heart at knowing that Fred and Hermione had found love in each other. “I was beginning to…”

She stopped short upon looking up at the couple. Suddenly, it wasn’t nearly so hard to pretend to be the stern mother. It was true that she knew they were both adults, and that she trusted them to make sound decisions. However, this didn’t mean that she approved of them being late to dinner because they were having a quickie. “Frederick, I will not tolerate - ”

“Listen, woman. We’re here, aren’t we,” Fred grumbled, still annoyed at having been interrupted, even for something as delightful as a meal lovingly cooked by his mother.

“Fred!”

Both Hermione and Molly were glaring at him, and he held up his hands in defeat. He shrank down into his seat, Hermione folding herself into the chair next to him.

The room was eerily quiet, as no one was quite ready to address the elephant in the room that had caught Molly’s attention and flared her anger. Specifically, the fact that Hermione was braless, and Fred’s hair was messier than Harry’s on a good day was entirely impossible to ignore, and everyone was quite well aware of must have transpired to put the two of them in such a state. Instead, the mages stared down at their plates, watching as they began to magically fill with food.

“So,” Ginny began, finally breaking the incredibly long and awkward silence. Every face in the room swiveled around to face the youngest witch. Uncomfortably, she stirred her potatoes around with her fork.

“How was Africa,” Ginny finally asked, nearly buckling under the weight of seven heavy gazes.

Crossing her arms tightly over her unbound chest, Hermione seconded the question. “Yes, Molly. Do tell us.” Ginny squinted at the older witch, unsure of her intentions. Hermione smiled at her best friend gratefully, thankful that she was at least attempting to draw the attraction away from her and Fred. Ginny nodded once surreptitiously, acknowledging that she was purposely seeking to help out her friend, though remained befuzzled as to why Hermione would deliberately thwart her efforts.

Molly smiled pleasantly at Hermione, and then turned her daughter, momentarily distracted by twice asked question. “We had a lovely time. Thank you so much for arranging the trip.”

Arthur nodded his head enthusiastically. “Yes, the people of Kenya are so lovely. So considerate and grateful for what they have.”

“And the Wizarding community there is absolutely fantastic,” Molly continued. “So willing to help out their Muggle counterparts. It is a rather poor part of the world, you know,” she added somberly.

“Our guide, Ashura,” Arthur added through a mouthful of beans, “is a professor at Uagadou, the Wizarding School in Uganda. He heads up an organization of students dedicated to raising money to bring underprivileged African wizards and witches to the school.”

There was a beat of pause, and for a moment it seemed that Hermione and Fred were going to be interrogated once again. Harry, at the behest of an incinerating glare from Ginny, cleared his throat. “That’s rather brilliant of them. So did you help out this organization or…”

Molly smiled. “We couldn’t directly, since the school is not in session. Instead, we went on a magizoological safari. We saw an entire pride of gryphons, with a recently hatched clutch of eggs!”

Ginny cooed overenthusiastically, hoping to keep up the distraction of her mother long enough for Hermione to finish summoning her bra and for Fred to fix his hair. “That’s so sweet! I hope you took photos to send to Charlie!”

Her mother scoffed, pretending not to notice Hermione’s contortions as she tried to put her bra back on without exposing her breasts, nor her eldest twin’s deliberate attempts to not watch his girlfriend refasten the garment. “Of course, darling! I took so many pictures!”

“Did you enjoy the hut we put you up in,” George wanted to know, leaning as far forward in his seat as possible to shield Hermione and Fred as she tried to refasten her bra while simultaneously slapping away Fred’s futile efforts to help. “I know it was a bit small, but we thought you might like the authenticity.”

At this Molly laughed, both at George’s vain attempt at hiding the obvious, and the memories his question brought up. “It was quite wonderful, until your father awoke to a family of meerkats on his chest.”

Finally having sorted out her underclothes, Hermione exclaimed, “You’re kidding? A whole family of meerkats?”

Arthur snorted. “I wish she was kidding, but Ashura’s little ones were bigger tricksters than Fred and George ever were.”

The twins turned to gasp overdramatically at their father in mirrored expressions of hurt and disbelief.

“Father,” George cried theatrically. “I’m disgusted. I’m revolted.”

“We dedicate our entire lives to our Lady and Savior Thalia, and this is the thanks we get.”

“No one is bigger trickster’s than the two of us,” they chorused simultaneously.

Ginny snickered from across the table. “Perhaps Thalia would rather you hadn’t, you big twerps.”

“No one, Ginevra, and I repeat, _no one_ is as much of a twerp as a little sister.”

She stuck her tongue out, and Fred mimicked the gesture in retaliation.

Molly’s eye was caught by something glinting in his mouth. Apparently, the piercing and Molly’s ensuing glare caught everyone else’s eyes as well, because they gasped and froze. Fred looked around in confusion, his tongue still hanging out of his mouth. Hermione cleared her throat, subtly nodding at his tongue. In a flash it was back in his mouth, obscured by his hands.

“Frederick Gideon Weasley, what is that?” Molly’s voice was at it’s most terrifying; certainly, she’d done her fair share of yelling in her days of raising children, but Fred and all his siblings knew that they were truly in trouble if her voice went low and quiet.

A sheepish smile plastered itself to his face. “What are you talking about mother dearest,” he asked between nervously gritted teeth.

Ron whispered, a bit too loudly, “She’s already seen it, you plum! We all have! Don’t make it worse by lying to her face.”

Fred’s innocent and cheerful façade dropped in an instant, and his eyes were like daggers. “A little bit louder, Ronnikins,” he snarled. “I’m not sure Charlie heard you.”

Ron’s face crunched up quizzically. “Charlie’s in Romania, Fred. I could scream bloody murder and he wouldn’t hear it.”

At this, Harry smacked his best friend up the head, telling him to can it.

“When did you get a piercing? She rounded on her other children, who were vainly attempting to hide the looks of guilt on their own faces. “What, have you all got one? What sorts of shenanigans have you all gotten into!”

The quiet around the table was deafening, as each child tried to pretend that they hadn’t heard a word their mother had said.

“I’m waiting,” she sang maniacally.

“It was my fault,” Hermione sighed, realizing that Molly would never believe the full story even if all six teenagers corroborated it. Cor, if she hadn’t been at the epicenter, she wouldn’t have believed it either. “Fred and I went out clubbing, and we got good and drunk.”

Fred caught on to Hermione’s lie right away, and smiled sheepishly, as though he were agreeing with her. “Guess drunk me thought a tongue piercing was a right genius idea.” He snickered, dragging his fingers over Hermione’s stomach deliberately. “Of course, she did get one of those navel piercings too, so drunk Hermione’s not much better.”

The bushy haired witch scowled, yanking her blouse up to reveal the ring with the obnoxious charm that Fred had magically speared through her skin. She glared up at him. “At least I didn’t pick the jewelry. I’d have picked something far smaller and more elegant.”

“You were so drunk you could hardly stand. Besides, you’re the one that fake married us,” Fred shot back, scrounging at something to throw at her.

Hermione scoffed, just barely concealing her laugh of incredulity, staring at Molly in a look of sheer innocence. “I woke up to my new piercing and thought it only fair. I conjured rings on our fingers and a marriage certificate.” She smiled in a demonic grin that would rival Fred’s own, and added, “I also might have vanished our clothes and gone right back to sleep.”

Molly actually laughed at that. “Can’t imagine he was too happy when he woke up.”

Fred pouted, crossing his arms over his chest tightly. “Of course I bloody wasn’t! I couldn’t remember past the piercings, and woke up to the two of us starkers, and apparently hitched!” He directed a glare at Hermione. “Drunk people can’t consent! Of course I freaked out!”

Molly raised an eyebrow. “Is this how the whole Cruciatus thing happened.”

Fred sobered up quickly, wincing both at the memory of the pain, and the visible hurt on Hermione’s face. He held her hand tightly. “Yeah, it is. I was so hung over and panicked, that I didn’t recognize my own reflection. Thought it was some intruder.”

Tears came unbidden from Hermione’s eyes, and she burrowed her face into Fred’s chest. “I’m sorry, Fred. I didn’t mean…I didn’t know it would upset you so much.”

He rubbed her back soothingly. “I already told you, love. All’s forgiven.” He kissed away her tears. “I love you.”

She sniffled, and gave him a watery smile. “I love you, too.”

From the other end of the table, Ron snorted. “Oy, get a room. I’m trying to eat here.”

Fred and Hermione blushed, and pulled away clearing their throats. Molly rolled her eyes. “Oh, meal’s almost over. Get going.”

Fred grinned devilishly, before grabbing Hermione’s hand and apparating away.

* * *

 

They landed in an unfamiliar room entirely decorated in white. “Fred, where are we?”

He smiled proudly. “Why, the wedding suite in Florock’s Hotel. Finest Wizarding hotel in London.”

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “Don’t you have to book rooms of this sort in advance?”

He flicked his wand, sending his Patronus scampering. “Yeah, but Florock sort of owes me a favor. Besides,” Fred purred, drawing Hermione close by the hips. “Don’t you think we deserve to have a proper wedding night? One we can both remember?”

“We were never actually married, you plum! That story never even happened!”

Fred bit his lip. “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take advantage of this golden opportunity.”

She sighed affectionately. “You are positively incorrigible. What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you like.”

Hermione considered that proposition for a moment, before yanking Fred’s shirt off. “I think I’d like to start where we left off.”

His thumbs brushed over the bare swells of her hips. “That sounds like a great idea.”

* * *

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! The End!   
> I really hope you enjoyed this last chapter as much as you enjoyed the rest of the fic. Thank you so much to everyone who read and left comments and kudos. You were all so kind and so patient with me! 
> 
> If you're interested, I'm writing a new Fremione fic as we speak; look out for it in September! 
> 
> Again, thank you all!
> 
> Much love,
> 
> The Writer xxx

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? Have questions? Either way, I'd appreciate if you left a comment or a kudos behind telling me what you thought!  
> You can always find me on Tumblr at: thewriterinallofus.tumblr.com


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